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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I think you truly can instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the skill I am attempting to master, although I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the recent past. Inside my home. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room 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 family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and discharging a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted frightened noises and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the window frame, mostly just lingering. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us yap. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are hairy creatures that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but you never know. A bit of time remains left in this seasoned learner yet.