I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. As long as the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and work to become a more enlightened self.
Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Pardon me, 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, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.
I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.
I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it ran after me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.
With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and ran away. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to forget about its being before I had to re-enter.
Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it was effective (to some degree). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.
Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.
Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The appearance of their many legs carrying them at that terrible speed causes my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they get going.
But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.
The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this seasoned learner yet.
