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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the mature being is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to confront any myself, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it ran after me), and spraying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just hanging out. As a means to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become more fearless worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their many legs transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they are in motion.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and flee when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that move hastily with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years within this veteran of life yet.