I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the mature being is willing and ready for growth. As long as the person is ready to confess when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.
Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am working to acquire, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the recent past. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.
It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming Normal about them.
I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to engage with any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.
With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.
In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the window frame, primarily lingering. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less scared proved successful.
Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.
Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that multiplies when they move.
But it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.
The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.
