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I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, although I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Apologies 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 large, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it chased me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I made whimpers of distress and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the window frame, primarily lingering. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Or, making a conscious choice to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they move.

But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years within this old dog yet.