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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I believe you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am trying to learn, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I produced frightened noises and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to forget about its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I visited a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, mostly just stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us chat. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they eat things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The vision of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that triples when they move.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that move hastily with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” level, but one can't be sure. Some life is left for this old dog yet.