The Other Driver

The first thing I was taught before I got my license was my mom telling me to “drive in defense”. At the time, I rolled my eyes a little, the way most teenagers do when parents repeat warnings that sound obvious. I thought she was being overly cautious, maybe even dramatic. I never really took her advice seriously—until two weeks ago.

Late one night, two of my friends were driving home when a car veered into their lane and crashed into them head-on. They were not speeding. They weren’t intoxicated. They weren’t even drowsy. But the other driver was impaired, and his reckless decision forever changed the way I view the road.

When I first got the call about the accident, my stomach dropped. I remember standing still, almost frozen, my phone pressed against my ear as if holding tighter would make the words I was hearing less real. Thankfully, my friends survived, but the crash left me with a realization that has stuck with me: impaired driving isn’t just about my own choices. It’s about the unpredictable decisions of others. Too often we think the question is, “Am I going to drink tonight?” But there’s another side: what about the driver who does? What about the person who chooses to drive after drinking, or the one who ignores the exhaustion, or the one who just has to send that text?

That night taught me that defensive driving isn’t optional—it’s necessary. My friends did nearly everything right, and still their safety depended on details like wearing seatbelts and not speeding. If they hadn’t been buckled in, the accident could have had a tragic ending. If they’d been going even slightly over the speed limit, the crash might have been fatal. It was a sobering reminder that while I can’t control other drivers, I can control how I prepare for them.

Since then, I have carried this awareness with me every time I get behind the wheel. I don’t drive just for myself; I drive with the understanding that my actions ripple outward to everyone on the road. That means slowing down when I might be tempted to push the limit. It means keeping my phone out of reach. It means choosing caution even when it feels inconvenient. Because somewhere out there is another driver making the opposite choice, and the only defense I have is responsibility.

The accident also made me reflect on the deeper idea of shared responsibility. Driving isn’t an individual act, even though it feels like one. It’s a collective trust among strangers, each depending on the others to respect their own lives and the lives around them. When one person breaks that trust by driving drunk, distracted, or tired the consequences don’t just fall on them. They fall on everyone else who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That truth is grim, but it’s also motivating. It reminds me that my responsibility on the road is not trivial but it’s life-saving.

This lesson, however, reaches beyond driving. It has changed the way I think about responsibility in all parts of life. In school, for example, I used to view group projects as tasks divided among individuals. Now I see them as a shared commitment where one person’s shortcuts or carelessness can affect everyone. On my track team, I used to measure effort by my personal performance. Now I recognize that being dependable, showing up on time, staying focused, and encouraging teammates, all that is just as important as any time I can run. Even in friendships, I have learned that responsibility means being someone others can rely on, whether that’s offering support in difficult times or simply keeping promises.

What happened to my friends was terrifying, but I refuse to let it be meaningless. Their survival is a reminder of the importance of small decisions: seatbelts, speed limits, alertness. Their pain became my lesson. It shaped me into someone who approaches driving and life itself with greater caution, awareness, and accountability.

There will always be people who make reckless choices. That is something none of us can change. But what I can change, what I can control, is my own vigilance and my own commitment to safety. That’s the lesson I took from their crash, and it’s the one I carry with me everywhere, not just behind the wheel, but in how I approach responsibility in every aspect of my life.

 

When I think back to my mom telling me to “drive in defense,” her words no longer sound like an overused warning. They sound like wisdom earned through experience, wisdom that I now carry forward. And while I can’t prevent every accident or anticipate every reckless driver, I can honor her advice, my friends’ survival, and my own responsibility by choosing to live and drive with awareness.