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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to change. My view is you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, 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 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 emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, for the most part hanging out. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a her, a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it worked (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice 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 pose no threat to me. I know they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They are said to only have eight legs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains for this seasoned learner yet.