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I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to change. My view is you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. So long as the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a more enlightened self.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (for fear that it chased me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the casement, primarily hanging out. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, actively deciding to become more fearless did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that terrible speed induces my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they move.

Yet 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’ve found that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.