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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. My view is you truly can instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and strive to be a better dog.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, something I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least becoming 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 ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it chased me), and emptying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate 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 in our pairing, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I made whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that multiplies when they get going.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around extremely quickly in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this veteran of life yet.