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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to change. I believe you can in fact train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and strive to be a improved version.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. 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 large, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it chased me), and discharging a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its being before I had to enter again.

Recently, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, mostly just hanging out. To be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their many legs carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that triples when they are in motion.

However 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 taking the steps of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.