Some people associate driving with freedom. I associate it with traffic cones, insurance claims and a deep sense of dread. Still, like most teenagers counting down the days until independence, I wanted my license the moment I turned fifteen. I rushed to the DMV, proudly clutched my permit and practiced endlessly in my high school parking lot, convincing myself that confidence alone would make me a good driver. Eventually, I graduated to the highway, much to my parents’ concern.
After they grew tired of gripping the passenger door and muttering prayers under their breath, they handed me off to a professional driving instructor. Despite knocking over multiple cones during parallel parking and once driving on the wrong side of the road, I somehow completed the course. Back at the DMV, I passed my test with a shiny 97. I was thrilled, conveniently ignoring the fact that my instructor had practically narrated every move I made. For a brief moment, I thought I had proven everyone wrong.
I had not.
That test would be the peak of my driving career. Everything after it went downhill, and I have since accepted a difficult truth: I am simply bad at driving and lost all confidence until I got my very own car, my 2024 Hyundai Tucson.
My parents were very lenient about which cars I drove, with no designated vehicles for each family member. Once I realized this, I seized the opportunity and took our Tesla to drive my sister and me to get our nails done. One second, I was looking at nail inspiration; the next, my car slammed into a pickup truck. I never knew nails could cost $75,000.Â
In the moment, the shock was paralyzing: my stomach dropped as embarrassment, fear and guilt all hit at once, and I realized how quickly a harmless distraction could turn into a life-altering mistake.
After that accident, I thought I had learned my lesson. Apparently, the universe disagreed. Not long after, I rear-ended a car while driving our Mustang. The driver was an innocent dad who had just returned from a 10-hour road trip, the icing on the cake being an insurance battle with a 19-year-old. I could not shake the feeling that I had ruined someone else’s already long day.
After two accidents, you would think there was no way a third could happen; after all, they say the third time is the charm. However, a third accident did happen. But this time it was not my fault. After totaling the blue Tesla my mom was deeply attached to, we replaced it with another Tesla, this one white. Little did my mom know she would have to part with that one, too. While driving to the mall with a friend, a soon-to-be college freshman rear-ended my Tesla with his Jeep, destroying the entire bumper. Six months later, it is still in maintenance, and I still blame myself.
This past week, my mom texted me to come home at 12:45 p.m. Something felt off, maybe it was the punctuation, or the oddly specific timing. I was volunteering at Cardinal Glennon Children’s Hospital, transporting my last patient to their room, and I left ten minutes early to make it home on time for what she had planned.
At exactly 12:45 p.m., I pulled into the driveway and saw both of my parents standing outside, holding a pair of car keys. Behind them was a new car, a green bow elegantly placed on top.
Idiots. So naive. Why would they trust me with another car? I am a child, a baby, even. After everything, this seemed like a terrible idea. But I went along with it.
I had told my dad about my job, about how I could not afford to Uber with my minimum-wage position as a patient care technician at Mercy St. Louis Hospital. And for once, he took me seriously. Maybe for the first time, he saw me as an almost-20-year-old instead of a kid.
They handed me the keys to a 2024 Hyundai Tucson, the newest car we had ever owned, and they gave it to me. I was incredibly thankful, though the question of why I deserved it lingered in my mind. Still, the smell of crisp white leather seats and the new Yankee Candle air freshener erased every doubt.
For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. Not because I suddenly became a good driver, or because I had finally earned some kind of trust badge, but because my parents believed I could handle the responsibility anyway, I believed I could. I could drive myself to work, pay for my own groceries and exist on my own schedule. I felt free in a way I never had before. And strangely enough, all of that freedom came from a 2024 Hyundai Tucson sitting in my driveway with a green bow on top.
Maybe being a bad driver was never the point of this story. Maybe it is about second chances, or in my case, fourth chances, about being seen as capable even when your track record says otherwise. I did not learn how to be an adult all at once. I learned in small, shaky moments, moments where someone believed in me before I fully believed in myself. That car was not just a way to get to work; it was proof that failure does not take your independence. It just makes the journey a little messier. And sometimes, becoming an adult does not start with confidence, but with a green bow, a set of keys and the decision to do better than you did yesterday.
So now I am driving my Hyundai, and things are going great. I have even driven it in the snow, and in the month that I have had it, nothing has happened, something I am genuinely proud of. I have become more responsible, and for the first time, I trust myself behind the wheel.