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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, as long as the old dog is willing and willing to learn. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, something I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets 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 large, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing a trio of instances in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (lest it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its presence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part lingering. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a gal, one of us, just chilling in the sun and listening to us yap. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they consume things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The vision of their multiple limbs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that triples when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left for this veteran of life yet.