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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to evolve. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is receptive and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and work to become a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who adore them). Growing up, 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 immediate vicinity 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 crawled on to the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it chased me), and emptying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to forget about its being before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the window frame, for the most part lingering. In order 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 extremely dumb, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They claim to only have eight legs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they move.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” stage, but one can't be sure. Some life is left for this old dog yet.