🔗 Share this article

I am someone who believes that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and discharging a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I produced whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its being before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become more fearless worked.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

But it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are hairy creatures that move hastily with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this seasoned learner yet.