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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to change. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the mature being is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing a trio of instances in the recent past. Inside my home. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (lest it pursued me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the window frame, primarily hanging out. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a gal, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and listening to us yap. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that frightening pace causes my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this seasoned learner yet.