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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, although I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, something I have battled against, frequently, for my all my days. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Including on three separate occasions in the last week. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to confront any personally, 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 slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, primarily stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (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 move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The vision of their numerous appendages carrying them at that terrible speed causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are hairy creatures that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.