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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I think you truly can train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any directly, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it chased me), and emptying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed 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 living with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its presence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, mostly just lingering. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it was effective (to some degree). Put another way, actively deciding to become less scared worked.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The sight of their many legs transporting them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this veteran of life yet.