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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to change. I think you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the mature being is willing and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and work to become a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am working to acquire, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have battled against, often, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Including a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any personally, 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 slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just lingering. To be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less scared did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

However it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that taking the steps of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.