A person stands beside the road with their hands raised, trying to flag down passing vehicles. Part of me wants to help. Another part immediately imagines what might happen if I open the door and let a stranger into the enclosed space of my truck. The thought is blunt: "If I let you in the truck, you're probably going to try to kill me." That may sound harsh, but compassion does not require me to ignore my instincts.
Driving a truck has taught me never to take safety for granted. It depends on small, daily decisions: keeping a door closed, telling someone where I am, investigating an unexpected sound, and refusing to go anywhere I do not want to go. Some people may consider those precautions excessive. To me, they give my family and me a better chance when something feels wrong.
The risks are real, whether they involve danger on the road, security at home, family pressure, or mental health struggles. I cannot control every outcome. I can decide which boundaries to hold before fear, confusion, or pressure from someone else makes the choice for me.
I can decide which boundaries to hold before fear, confusion, or pressure from someone else makes the choice for me.
A raised hand on the road does not erase the risk
When someone appears to need help beside the road, I feel the conflict immediately. I do not want to become someone who ignores everybody. But I cannot pretend that inviting an unknown person into my truck is harmless. Once the door closes, I am sharing a confined space with someone whose motives I cannot know. Within seconds, a routine encounter can become a calculation about personal safety.
That calculation comes from experience as a truck driver. I have encountered suspicious strangers at truck stops, including people who appeared to be asking for a ride while suggesting another motive. Some approaches simply did not feel right, even when I could not identify a single piece of evidence that proved what the person intended. That is when I trust my gut. I do not need enough evidence to convince a jury before protecting myself. If my instincts tell me not to let someone inside, the answer is no.
Those decisions also carry the weight of the people waiting for me at home. Before I leave on long drives, my daughter tells me not to die. She says it with humor, but there is love and genuine concern behind it. We're not promised tomorrow. I know that from the road, from painful periods in family relationships, and from once fearing that I would not see my grandson until he was grown. I want to come home. A stranger's raised hand does not cancel that responsibility.
I want someone to know where I am
Long stretches of travel can feel isolating, even with traffic moving all around me. That is why I recommend allowing a trusted family member or friend to track your real-time location. My family uses Life360. The visibility offers reassurance, but it also provides practical information. If something happens and I cannot say where I am, the people who care about me have somewhere to start.
Location sharing cannot eliminate danger or prevent every accident, confrontation, or disappearance. It can, however, give useful information to the people who would begin looking. They may see where movement stopped, where the route changed, or where the last reliable location was recorded. When time matters, a starting point is far better than no direction at all.
When time matters, a starting point is far better than no direction at all.
I have considered carrying another tracking device that would work independently of my phone. Someone could take or disable a phone, or it could become separated from me during an emergency. An independent device could provide another trail. This is not a theoretical security checklist. It comes from working as a truck driver, traveling alone, stopping in unfamiliar places, and spending long days where my family cannot see what is happening around me. I want someone I trust to know where I am. If I go silent, they should not be left with nothing.
The sound at the door changed how I secure my home
A sound inside a house can seem completely ordinary. A family member once heard something and assumed it was a child coming home. That familiar explanation made sense until it became clear that someone had entered the home unbidden. The disturbing part is how easily we can give an unexpected sound an innocent explanation when everyone feels comfortable.
That experience changed how I approach home security. I lock doors and set alarms even during the day. Cameras and sensors are not decorations or equipment reserved for nighttime. They help establish what is happening when a sound, movement, or opening seems out of place. The routine is straightforward: lock the door, set the alarm, check the camera, and pay attention when something sounds different.
My wife sometimes looks at me as if I need to relax. I understand why the precautions can resemble paranoia, especially when nothing has happened recently. Still, I would rather be safe than sorry. Describing a neighborhood as safe does not change the fact that an unlocked door is an opening. Familiar surroundings can make us less attentive without reducing the possible consequences. I do not want a home filled with fear. I want security routines that are already in place before fear arrives.
I want security routines that are already in place before fear arrives.
True crime made the secondary location a hard no
Disappearances and unresolved cases draw my attention to the decisions people face before a situation becomes impossible to control. True crime can be hard to hear, particularly when a case involves horrific violence or crimes against children. Christine sometimes gets choked up while recounting those cases. The emotion is understandable. These are not weightless stories. The people involved had families, routines, and ordinary expectations before something went terribly wrong.
One boundary is absolute for me: never allow an attacker or coercive stranger to take you to a secondary location. If someone is trying to move you away from where you are, the new location may give that person more control and make it less likely that anyone will witness or interrupt what happens. I would rather establish that boundary now than try to invent it while terrified and under pressure.
One boundary is absolute for me: never allow an attacker or coercive stranger to take you to a secondary location.
True crime is useful when it helps people recognize warning signs, trust discomfort, and make certain decisions in advance, rather than live in constant fear. Truck stops offer their own reminders. Approaches from strangers, including people described as lot lizards, may look ordinary at first while hiding another motive. I do not have to accuse everyone of planning harm. I also do not owe anyone access to my truck, my route, or my company. Trust your gut, hold the boundary, and do not let politeness push you somewhere unsafe.
Staying alert also means admitting when I am struggling
Safety extends beyond crime prevention. Depression is real, and so are other mental health struggles. The pressure of work, family, and independent content creation does not disappear because I can keep driving or make people laugh. The physical strain accumulates too. Prolonged driving and road bumps can hurt my back, and staying loose inside a truck requires attention. Pretending none of it affects me would not make me stronger. It would only make the problem harder to name.
Real Talk follows the way my mind works. I begin with whatever I feel inspired to say, and the subject may lead into concerns I never planned to address. That feels honest. Some days, creative work seems worthwhile. On others, quitting looks easier. My friend Rico has experienced that uncertainty with his artistic projects. One day we talk about continuing, and another day he is unsure whether he wants to do it anymore. I understand the swing. Producing something consistently can be emotionally demanding, even before the practical limits on time become a problem.
I am trying what I call bulk content creation, pre-recording enough material to publish consistently while continuing to work as a truck driver. A team would help, but I am not chasing excessive wealth. I want to be comfortable, pay the bills, keep the household services on, and provide for my family. The work also brings ridiculous setbacks. I might discover that my headset was not connected properly and that the recording app captured audio through the truck's Bluetooth or phone instead. Those technical failures consume time that is already scarce.
Recovery does not always have to be complicated. Socializing and leisure help me. So does taking a break without feeling ashamed. Having a few drinks responsibly can offer a way to unwind. The goal is to find something that makes you feel good without denying that the pressure exists. Hearing people speak openly about mental health can help as well. I have seen that in the response to shows such as This is Why We Drink, where honesty can encourage listeners to seek help and start doing better.
Follow The Blodgett Show on Instagram at Blodgettshowpodcast, find Christopher Blodgett on YouTube, or follow Christopher Blodgett on Instagram and TikTok. Blodgett Coffee is available through blodgettcoffee.com, with promo code coffee10 for 10% off a first order, and David Goldberg's book is available through the link in the show notes. Those connections support independent work and keep Real Talk moving between people. None of us has every struggle handled. I have issues, you have issues, and we all have issues. Saying so is one way to avoid facing them alone.
