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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to transform. I think you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have grappled with, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Pardon me, 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 imposing, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Including on three separate occasions in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any myself, but I still became hysterical 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 trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to ignore its being before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, for the most part stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it was effective (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become more fearless proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their many legs transporting them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they merit my intense dislike, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and motivated by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.