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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to change. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and work to become a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am working to acquire, even though I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing three times in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any directly, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the immediate vicinity as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it chased me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time 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 frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part stationary. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds quite foolish, but it was effective (a little bit). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less scared worked.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The appearance of their many legs carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that increases exponentially when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.