The Reality of Being Invincible

At the age of 16, you feel invincible—like nothing on earth can hurt you. You have newfound freedom in the form of four wheels and the ability to go anywhere you dream. It’s exciting, and it can lead you to do reckless things. As a young driver, speed limits feel like suggestions. Everyone on the road seems to be racing to some finish line, and you need to get there first. You feel untouchable—the way you take those turns, hear the roar of the engine, and fly down the road to your destination. Nothing can hurt you. You are free—until you’re not.

At 16, I learned what it felt like to be helpless and completely out of control.

The night started out like most others—I was hanging out with my best friend, Rylie, and my boyfriend, Jake. We decided we wanted fast food and needed to leave immediately before the restaurant closed. It was winter, and though there was no snow, the air was frigid. We quickly piled into Rylie’s car and headed off to grab food—after all, Jake was buying.

We lived in a small town, and any trip required a twenty-minute drive through a canyon. It was an annoying inconvenience, but we were used to it. Rylie was a good driver, so she usually drove when we were together. But she liked to drive fast. Today was no exception. As we entered the canyon, I clearly remember Jake joking that we were going too fast. But I was too busy laughing and enjoying the music to notice when we took a corner too sharply at over 100 mph. That’s when everything slowed down.

We clipped the back of a truck, which sent the car skidding right—straight into the canyon wall. But we didn’t stop. The impact sent us up a steep hill. Somehow, despite going nearly vertical, the car didn’t flip. In that surreal moment, I remember thinking how strange it was that we were still upright. Then, as if someone had suddenly hit the fast-forward button, reality came rushing back. The car spun and hurtled toward a cement barrier.

The moment we hit, the air was forced from my lungs with a brutal intensity. My face slammed into the airbag, then snapped back against the seat. The smell of the airbag was suffocating. My head rang, and my chest felt like it had collapsed in on itself.

I looked over at Rylie—she was in shock, staring straight ahead, frozen. Jake shouted, asking if we were okay. I yelled back that I was. Rylie only nodded. Then, as the reality of the crash set in, the car doors were flung open. A stranger appeared, yelling for us to get out of the car. Confused, I sat still for a moment, but in an instant, the stranger unbuckled my seatbelt. I grabbed my phone and stumbled onto the road.

I turned back. Rylie was right behind me, tears streaming down her face. Jake was still getting out. The stranger hurried me across the street to a parked truck, opening the door for me. I climbed in, still in shock. Rylie slid in beside me, sobbing. A woman in the front seat turned and asked if we were okay. It took me a moment before I finally managed to answer, “I think so.”

Jake and the man who had pulled us from the wreck got into the truck. That’s when I finally grasped the situation.

I fumbled for my phone and dialed my mom. I told her where we were and what had happened. I can still hear my dad in the background, trying to calm my mom as she panicked, telling her to put on shoes and grab a coat. I hung up and turned to Rylie, pulling her into a hug as the couple who had saved us recounted the accident.

They had been in the truck we clipped. They watched everything—the moment we lost control, the impact, the car climbing the hill, the final crash into the barrier. Most of the time, you’re supposed to stay in your vehicle after an accident, but we had landed in the middle of the road, right in a blind turn. They were afraid another car would hit us, so the man ran out to pull us to safety. He was the one who had opened my door.

I couldn’t believe how kind they were after we had just hit their truck. They didn’t care about the damage—only that we were safe.

It wasn’t long before my mom arrived. As soon as I got out of the truck, she pulled me into a hug. Then, seeing Rylie’s hysteria, she turned and held her, too. We spoke to the police, recounting what had happened. Eventually, we all piled into my mom’s car.

That drive home was the scariest of my life. I clutched Rylie’s hand, feeling her fear as strongly as my own. Our invincible shell had been shattered. We were hurt. Things were broken. We were in trouble. And we were so, so scared.

After that crash, everything changed.

For weeks, I was afraid to get into a car. That turn in the canyon haunted me, replaying the accident in my mind. No longer did I feel like nothing could hurt me. The scars on my body were proof that I was wrong. We were lucky—we got to walk away. But not everyone does.

It’s easy to think that nothing can touch you, that your actions don’t have consequences. But one reckless decision can fill your life with regret. Each time you push the limits a little further, you’re building up a tolerance—until one day, you’re going 100 mph through a canyon and into a wall. You could hurt yourself. You could hurt others.

Rylie still struggles with the thought that we could have been seriously injured—or worse. But for me, the accident changed something. It made me a better driver. Now, I never drive recklessly with others in the car, because I know exactly what can happen when you do.

I was lucky enough to walk away. I was given the chance to be better. But you can avoid the situation altogether.

The lesson? You’re not invincible. So don’t drive like you are.