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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to evolve. I believe you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, as long as the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the person is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any myself, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just hanging out. In order to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (to some degree). Or, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their many legs propelling them at that terrible speed causes my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they move.

However it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left for this old dog yet.