Arles is perhaps best known — amongst most, excepting aficionados of the Roman Empire — for being the home of Vincent Van Gogh, who is a reasonably well-known painter. Van Gogh intended on setting up an enclave of artists away from the hustle of Paris; he ended up only convincing Gauguin to take a residency here. [^1] I've been in Arles for two weeks now. Last night, I went on a run to the "Pont du Van Gogh", a bridge named after an artist that painted it once. Again, this may go to show Van Gogh is a reasonably well-known painter. The bridge was interesting — a delectable cross-section of wooden beams, forever suspended in a literal sense — and marked a good place to turn around to finish my run. Unfortunately, I try to avoid running back on the same route (I've always thought that was just more boring), a habit that is likely riskier in exchange for being mildly more interesting (foreshadowing!) Van Gogh's bridge is in a relatively rural area, as it assumes most of its visitors are reaching the bridge by car. Thus, the way back took me on a barely beaten trail next to a river (a pleasant fact) that led to no road except for the major highway in Arles (a very unpleasant fact). I began to walk alongside the highway, facing incoming traffic. I was dimly aware that my breathing had begun to heighten, my heart was pounding faster, my music had seemed to quieten. Searching on maps, I saw a bridge that promised a quieter, non-yellow, more pedestrian-friendly road. I decided to walk towards it — no sooner did I look up that I had to hurl myself into the bushes, as a car was getting a bit too close to the breakdown lane that had been my host for the past few hundred metres. I walked & I walked, and my heart sank: the bridge — at least, what I thought was the bridge, I'm still unsure to this day — was suspended, with no obvious way to ascend it, no obvious way towards the promised pedestrian sidewalks. I decided I had to get off at the next highway exit. Keep in mind: highway exits — highways in general, for that matter — are meant for *cars*, not *people*. My identity, personally, typically leans towards the latter camp. To reach the next exit, I would have to cross four lanes of cars during rush hour. Oddly, what motivated me was an Instagram reel I watched an ambiguous number of days ago, posted by one of the millions of likely-robot-run "self-development" accounts that the Algorithm has deemed will run my feed. This reel showed a low-quality video of a little fish jumping out of his little puddle, wriggling across an obviously-unpleasant stint on land, then reaching the ocean.[^2] That inspirational, elegant metaphor of taking risk to find a new world inspired me to sprint across the first two lanes, quickly realising there were another two lanes to run across. As the fish didn't explain long-term planning (i.e what happens when your unpleasant stint on land is longer than expecting), I was now stuck in the middle of this highway, waiting for the next break in traffic. Angry horns came from both sides now, rather than just one. Wearing all black, perched on the 8-inch cement dividers, I was closer to rapidly moving car mirrors more than I usually like. [^3] And then, through channeling the power of the fish for ten minutes, a three second respite availed itself. By some miracle, I avoided getting hit on the exit, and I emerged into the new world. [^1]: To be fair, if you could only have one painter take up residency, Gauguin is definitely not bad. It's like trying to form a basketball team, but you only get Michael Jordan. I get that you failed the original goal, but did you really fail? [^2]: What the reel does not depict is how he was likely eaten immediately afterwards by some sea creature of the ocean. That wouldn't help inspire the next generation of online business leaders. Also, foreshadowing! [^3]: I typically prefer being not close at all. One could even use the word *far* to describe my preferred distance from fast-moving cars.