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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to transform. I think you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the mature being is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have battled against, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any myself, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and emptying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the sill, primarily hanging out. In order to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their multiple limbs propelling them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they get going.

But it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. There’s a few years within this old dog yet.