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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to evolve. My view is you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, provided that the old dog is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, often, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the last week. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (in case it chased me), and spraying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I produced low keening sounds and ran away. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I visited a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, mostly just lingering. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their many legs carrying them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they move.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, 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 working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this seasoned learner yet.