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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. My view is you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the individual in question is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am working to acquire, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. This includes a trio of instances in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (lest it ran after me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to forget about its presence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the sill, for the most part lingering. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a her, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and listening to us yap. It sounds extremely dumb, but it worked (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this seasoned learner yet.