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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its being before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the window frame, primarily stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it was effective (to some degree). Alternatively, actively deciding to become more fearless proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. Some life is left left in this seasoned learner yet.