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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I believe you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, provided that the mature being is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am working to acquire, although I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it ran after me), and emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or living with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the window frame, mostly just lingering. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. It sounds quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way imaginable. The appearance of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.