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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to transform. My view is you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am working to acquire, although I am decrepit? It is an important one, something I have grappled with, frequently, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Including on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

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

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I emitted frightened noises and ran away. When finding myself alone, 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.

Recently, I visited a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, mostly just lingering. In order to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less scared did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that frightening pace induces my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they move.

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 employing the techniques of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

Just because they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” level, but you never know. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.