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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the person is willing to admit when it was wrong, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, something I have grappled with, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it ran after me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to ignore its presence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part stationary. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Or, making a conscious choice to become more fearless worked.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages transporting them at that alarming velocity induces my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that employing the techniques of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and fueled by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.