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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. My view is you can in fact train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and strive to be a better dog.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the last week. Inside my home. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any personally, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and ran away. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their numerous appendages propelling them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they are in motion.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this veteran of life yet.