I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is willing and eager for knowledge. So long as the person is ready to confess when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.
OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am working to acquire, although I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.
I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.
An intense phobia regarding spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it pursued me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.
With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its being before I had to re-enter.
Recently, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part lingering. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less phobic proved successful.
Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.
Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their numerous appendages transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they move.
Yet 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. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and flee when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.
The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” stage, but you never know. Some life is left within this seasoned learner yet.
