🔗 Share this article

I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to transform. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an important one, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still panicked 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 facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it ran after me), and discharging a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I emitted frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to ignore its being before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just stationary. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they move.

However 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. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.