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I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to change. My view is you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. As long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, something I have grappled with, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room 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 family room partition. I “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it ran after me), and spraying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to forget about its presence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, mostly just stationary. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a girlie, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their numerous appendages propelling them at that frightening pace causes my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that triples when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that scuttle about extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and fueled by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” level, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this old dog yet.