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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to evolve. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change 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 previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out 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 “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and spraying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or living with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to forget about its presence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us yap. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way imaginable. The vision of their multiple limbs propelling them at that terrible speed induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

However it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” level, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.