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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I believe you truly can train a seasoned creature, as long as the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (lest it chased me), and emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the sill, primarily lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become more fearless proved successful.

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 are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The appearance of their many legs carrying them at that frightening pace induces my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they are in motion.

But it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this veteran of life yet.