I GOT MY LICENSE AND IT’S LOWKEY TERRIFYING 🚗💨
Okay besties, gather round because your favorite chaos gremlin just did the most adult thing ever. I walked into the DMV, took that god-awful photo that makes you look like a cryptid, and walked out with a shiny piece of plastic that says I can legally operate a two-ton death machine. 🪪
And honestly? I’m not okay.
Everyone hypes up getting your license like it’s the final boss of being a teenager. They’re like, “OMG, the freedom! The independence! The road trips!” But nobody warns you that the second you grip that steering wheel alone for the first time, your brain just blue-screens. It’s like your soul leaves your body and floats above the car, screaming, “WHY ARE WE GOING 45 MPH? THAT’S SO FAST. WE ARE GOING TO DIE.”
The DMV was literally a fever dream. I waited in line for two hours behind a guy who was arguing about his tags with a woman who looked like she’d seen the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Then I had to take the written test again. AGAIN. I passed, but let’s be real, I guessed on like four questions about “unpaved shoulder” laws. What even is a shoulder? I don't have one, I'm broke from gas prices.
But the real tea? The actual driving portion was a whole vibe. Shoutout to my examiner, a man named Gerald who looked like he hadn’t smiled since 1998. He got in my car, smelled my lavender air freshener, and just sighed. I did a perfect parallel park (don't ask how, the parking gods were just on my side that day) and only almost killed one pedestrian. He didn't even flinch. Absolute legend. Anyway, I passed, and he said "congrats" in the most monotone voice possible. I felt like I just won the Super Bowl but also like I needed a nap.
Now, the realest part? The first solo drive. I didn't go anywhere cool. I drove to Target. And let me tell you, driving to Target is the new extreme sport. I pulled out of my driveway and immediately forgot how turn signals work. I was that person. The one holding up traffic because I was too scared to merge onto the main road. I had my music off, my hands at 10 and 2, and I was leaning forward like I was trying to see over the hood of a semi-truck. My neck hurt after 10 minutes.
The glow-up is real though. Suddenly, I’m the most popular person in my friend group. I’m the designated driver. I’m the “can you pick me up?” girl. And honestly, it feels kinda good to be needed. But also, the gas tank is always on E because everyone wants to go to the mall and get boba. I’m not a taxi service, I’m a friend with a car. There’s a difference! 😤
Speaking of gas, why is it $4 a gallon? I put $20 in and the needle barely moved. I could have bought three Chipotle burritos for that. Instead, I got half a tank of unleaded and a mild panic attack when the pump clicked off.
Let’s talk about the parents though. My mom was more stressed than I was. She sat in the passenger seat with her invisible brake foot slamming the floorboards the entire time. She was gripping the “oh crap” handle so hard her knuckles were white. I looked over and she had her eyes closed during a three-point turn. Iconic. Dad? He just fell asleep. That’s trust, I guess.
And the freedom? It’s real. I can go get food at 2 AM if I want to. I can blast my terrible music and sing off-key with the windows down. I can just… drive. It’s the only time I can actually think. It’s like a therapy session but with more traffic.
But with great power comes great responsibility. It’s not just about looking cool with your sunglasses on and one hand on the wheel. It’s about being smart. Like, I check my blind spots now. I actually use my blinker. I don’t text and drive because I’m not trying to turn my new license into a memorial. We love a safe queen. Safety is a personality trait, besties.
The other day, I was driving and a song came on that I used to listen to in middle school, and I just started bawling. Full-on crying while driving to CVS. I had to pull over in the parking lot and just vibe with my emotions. Why is nobody talking about how much thinking you do when you’re alone in a car? It’s just you and your thoughts and a bunch of other drivers who also have no clue what they’re doing.
Everyone out there is just pretending. We all got the same paper that says we know what we’re doing, but we don't. We're all just winging it. I saw a guy eat a full bowl of cereal while driving on the highway this morning. A BOWL. With milk. Bro was living in 3024 while I’m struggling to change the radio station without taking my eyes off the road.
So, to all my fellow new drivers out there: I see you. I see you stalling at the green light. I see you taking the long way home because you’re scared of the highway. I see you triple-checking your mirrors like you’re about to launch a spaceship. It gets easier. Or so I’m told. I hear after like, 10,000 hours of driving, you unlock the ability to actually talk to your passengers without having a panic attack.
Until then, I’ll be out here, cruising at 5 mph under the speed limit in the right lane, blasting my playlist, and just enjoying the ride. Don’t honk at me, I’m new here. We’re all just one pothole away
Final Thoughts
Let’s be honest: the driver’s license has outlived its usefulness as a simple proof of competence behind the wheel. It has morphed into a de facto national ID, a banking key, and a voting credential—a bureaucratic Frankenstein that now dictates our access to society more than our ability to navigate a highway. Until we decouple the right to drive from the need to prove who we are, we’re not licensing drivers; we’re policing citizenship through the rearview mirror.