It was two in the morning when the radio silenced the darkness. “Motor vehicle crash. Possible injuries.” I was an EMT student. It was an empty road when we pulled up, aside from the flicker of hazard lights. A compact car had rolled over twice before it stopped against a tree. It filled the air with the smell of gasoline. The driver shook on the curb. “I just looked down for a second,” he explained. His best friend was still in the car.

While we waited for the tow truck, I sat beside the driver. He was young, perhaps a year older than me. His phone was still shattered on the pavement, the text he was writing still visible on the screen. It read, “Almost there.” I recall the brightness of the phone illuminating his knees and the silence that descended after each word he attempted to speak. He wasn’t intoxicated. He wasn’t stoned. He was fatigued and distracted and human. I believe that is something that everybody forgets: how quickly “normal” becomes “too late.”

I began to wonder about my own driving after that evening. I thought of the times I browsed through tunes while stopped at a red light or half-asleep drove home after long days.

That night changed how I define impaired driving. To me, impaired driving means being behind the wheel when your mind or body is not fully there. It can be alcohol, drugs, exhaustion, stress, or distraction. Anything that slows reactions or clouds judgment counts. Many people misunderstand this because they think impairment only means being drunk. Even drivers who finish traffic school may believe that as long as they follow the rules, they are safe. What they miss is that the danger lies in the moments when attention slips, not just in breaking laws.

In EMS, I have witnessed countless types of impairment. A text lights up, and a driver glances away for a moment. I have witnessed parents reach for the back seat to soothe a child, nurses doze after extended shifts, and teenagers record videos while driving. Fatigue slows responses. Distraction separates attention. Alcohol and drugs impair judgment. Each does it in a unique manner, but the end result is the same: the driver does not perceive what is in front of them until it is too late.

That call also changed how I act while I am driving. I turn my phone off prior to driving. I pull over to rest when I get fatigued. I speak up when friends are planning to drive after having a drink. On occasion, they tease me, but I don't budge. I tell them that I have witnessed what it does to you when you assume you are okay. It only takes a single choice to ruin everything.

The encounter also made me reflect on my driver education. My high school program covered signs, speeds, and traffic laws, but it never addressed the emotional impact of responsibility. I think these classes can help prevent impaired driving if they cover more than mechanics. Students must understand the human toll of tiny errors. Classes should include accounts from accident survivors, first responders, and families who have lost a loved one. Those voices are powerful and make the lesson feel real.

I think that driver safety courses are useful when they are centered on real conditions. I believe the programs that succeed do so because they build habits that last. I believe these classes can help prevent impaired driving if they cover more than mechanics and connect lessons to real-life outcomes. They root respect within drivers—respect for the highway, the riders, and every stranger you encounter as you drive.

My task now is to carry my story and the lessons I have learned forward, not just in words. I began visiting driver’s education classes at schools to speak about what I have witnessed in EMS. With my instructor’s help, I have collaborated with a local safety educator to create brief presentations on distracted driving, and I have helped bring EMS members to driver education programs to share their stories. Outside the classroom, I have made it a practice to stay attentive to peers and coworkers. When someone plans to drive after going out, I give them a ride. When I catch a friend looking at a phone, I remind them why I never do. I know these moments can spark lasting change. I believe that change begins when one person decides to act, and I try to be that person every time I enter a car.