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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to change. I believe you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their multiple limbs propelling them at that terrible speed causes my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” stage, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.