My dad presses his foot into the floor every time I drive, like there’s an invisible brake pad only he can reach. He doesn’t even look at me when he does it. He just stares straight ahead and says the same thing he’s said since I got my temps. Be a defensive driver.

I always said, “I know.” But I didn’t. Not even close. How could a girl who just got her license really know what that meant? I’m basically the definition of a teenager who thinks they know everything. But in reality, what does that even mean? Be a defensive driver. Defensive against what? The weather? Other drivers? Animals? Myself? Sometimes I even wonder if I should be driving at all.

My cousin’s story made me start asking that question for real. He had worked long shifts before, so what was different this time? It was another late night at TopGolf, another drive home after midnight, another “I’m fine” moment. Except this time, he wasn’t.

Next thing he knows, he’s dozed off and ended up in a ditch with an officer impatiently knocking on his window. The craziest part? He was surrounded by buildings, streetlights, and poles, things he easily could’ve hit, yet somehow, he landed in the one spot that was safe.

And that’s what made me think about what my dad had said. Be a defensive driver.

But how do you defend yourself against exhaustion? Against the kind of tired that sneaks up when you’re just trying to make it home? He had just worked. A normal guy trying to make some money. Like everybody else. And that’s the scariest part.

Almost every American has to work to get paid somehow, usually forty, sometimes fifty hours a week, and then drive home. Can you imagine how many people end those days completely drained, just trying to get back to their beds?

I’m not saying the stories about drunk driving, bad accidents, or distracted drivers shouldn’t be talked about. They absolutely should. But this is different. This is the version that’s almost inevitable. The nights when you haven’t taken anything, haven’t looked at your phone, and you’re still at risk because you’re simply too tired. The ones where your eyes blur for half a second and that’s all it takes. And no one really talks about it.

According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, about 91,000 police-reported crashes each year involve drowsy drivers. Those crashes lead to roughly 50,000 injuries and nearly 800 deaths annually. The AAA Foundation found that between 2017 and 2021, nearly 30,000 people were killed in fatigue-related crashes. Yet, unlike alcohol or texting, tiredness doesn’t come with a clear warning sign. There’s no breathalyzer for exhaustion. It’s silent and ordinary, which might be what makes it so dangerous.

I had never fallen asleep in class before. I didn’t understand how that could even happen to other students. I thought if you showed up, you were fine. Even if you were running on five hours of sleep, you made it, so you were good. But one morning I wasn’t. I was awake and present, at least I thought I was. It did not help the fact that it was Introduction to Cultural Anthropology (I'm sorry to the future anthropologists, your work is truly amazing but most definitely not for me). By the end of class, my eyes started to drop, and I didn’t even notice it happening. When I suddenly jerked awake, it scared me. I had to lower my desk, put my stuff away, and lean forward just to stay alert. I remember trying so hard to focus on what my professor was saying, but it felt like my brain just wasn’t there. And in that moment, I finally understood how easy it is for someone to think they’re fine, right before they’re not.

That experience made me realize something simple but heavy, being human is exhausting. We all live on deadlines and schedules and alarms. We push ourselves because that’s what we’re taught to do, keep going, stay awake, don’t stop. “Overcome challenges.” But when we get behind the wheel, that mindset can turn deadly. No one plans to fall asleep while driving. No one chooses to be too tired to react. It just happens, quietly, when you least expect it.

Now, when my dad says, “Be a defensive driver,” I finally understand what he means. You’re not just defending yourself from other drivers. You’re defending yourself from your own limits. From the moments you think you’re fine when you’re not. From the version of you that just wants to get home. Because that version, the tired one, the distracted one, the one that’s “just a little off”, is the one that can change everything in a single second.

And maybe that’s what my dad has been trying to teach me all along. Being a defensive driver isn’t about fear or perfection. It’s about respect. Respect for your own limits, respect for the road, and respect for the lives that travel beside you.