🔗 Share this article

I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have battled against, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

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

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, but I still panicked if one was visibly 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 made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it chased me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to ignore its presence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, primarily lingering. In order to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a girlie, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way imaginable. The sight of their many legs carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they are in motion.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this old dog yet.