Forced perspective is a bizarre thing. I gained my first glimpse of it upside down — I don't mean that figuratively. I mean that I was literally upside down in the back of my mom’s car, actively restrained by the seatbelt that prevented me from plummeting face-first into the roof. The sound of my younger sister’s cries filled my consciousness as I felt blood rush to my head. Moving every part of my limbs, I started self-diagnosing myself, hoping there wasn’t a gear that refused my brain’s commands. Arms — check, legs — check, hands — check. It’s funny how the mind works. I knew I was alive, yet the fear coursing through my veins kept convincing me otherwise.

How is it that a simple thrift-store visit would cause one of my most unforgettable memories? Yet, it starts a second before that for me. We have to go further back — the moment I saw the car. Smooth, rapid, white sedan that rammed its way into the left side of our vehicle. Time becomes theatrical before life-changing events — slowing down just long enough for you to think, “That could never be me,” before it accelerates to give you a bitter taste of reality. Snippets were the scenes I’d call everything after that. The family nearby who assisted us out of the car. The sound of sirens approaching as we viewed my mom’s newly purchased birthday gift in shambles at the center of the intersection. Spelling aloud my last name repeatedly to the officers around me. Yet, one snippet that will never lose its sting was the moment I was informed the person who caused all this had driven away.

If war casualties are defined by the loss of lives during battle, then I’d say we are still at war. Every moment we treat those 4,000-pound chunks of metal as toys, we enter a new battle. However, this battle isn’t against another nation; it seems our biggest enemy is ourselves.

Whenever the topic of impaired driving is brought up, I find myself thinking of one phrase: “” — harsh, but allow me to explain. In 2013, there was a famous DUI case that involved a woman by the name of Kayla Mendoza. She fatally killed two women in a wrong-way car crash while driving under the influence. However, what she tweeted hours before the collision is what terrified people the most: “2 drunk 2 care.” Empathy is a skill that many people struggle to embody, including myself — the active decision to prioritize the well-being and care of others around you, even when it's difficult. Whenever someone drives under the influence, they willingly choose not to consider the consequences their decision might have. They don't care who they’ll end up affecting, and how could they? Why worry about a possibility you can't see yet? Stuck in the dark on who it’ll happen to, and too prideful to care anyway — .

We are aware of the dangers associated with it, and yet we still take part in the risk anyway. Let’s put it into perspective: when you do something over and over again, you gain familiarity, and soon familiarity turns into comfort, which then turns into ego. Yes, I know that no one wants to be called egotistical, but let's be real here — we all are in some way, shape, or form. Everyone has that one thing they could confidently do with their eyes closed; if someone questioned my ability to eat, I’d look at them sideways. Overconfidence whispers its assurance in our ears whenever we are familiar with something — quiet, but loud enough to block out the warning signs most of us developed in driver’s ed. “I’ve taken this route a thousand times, one drink won’t hurt,” “It’s only seven minutes away, what's the harm?” or worse, “I’m a great driver, I’ll be fine.” Our egos are silent when it comes to anything but insanely loud when we bite off more than we can chew.

No soldier has ever gone to war without the most crucial factor of their survival — their focus. Every impairment has a way of disarming you long enough to lose your sense of awareness in battle. Alcohol is like a rifle — shooting its bullets of blurred judgment to convince one that they're fine when they’re not. Drugs become tear gas — delaying your reactions with their distorted perception of reality. Fatigue like a blind fistfight — slowing your reflexes one by one. Finally, texting — a decoy used to make you believe you're in control. We are vulnerable every time we allow our focus to be diluted by warfare, not only risking our lives, but the lives of those around us.

The owner of the white sedan that hit us was an impaired 17-year-old who’d taken his dad’s car without a license. I was angry for a long time after the incident happened. At 14, every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the moment of impact before we flipped. Getting in any vehicle never felt the same — I always felt like I needed to be the driver’s second pair of eyes. The worst part is, I never got to see his face. I was bitter — and it hardened my heart. That is, until I turned 17 myself.

My dad had been teaching me to drive around our block for a couple of weeks, and that was my first hands-on experience on the roads. Even then, my awareness was tested as my father instilled discipline. “Thérèse, watch out for that trash can.” “Don't speed up before you look both ways.” “Don’t look my way, Thérèse. Always keep your eyes forward.” It’s weird — I had convinced myself I’d be a fast learner, yet even I caught myself distracted. It took a while for me to understand — I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. The only thing is, I had someone around to tell me that. Funnily enough, it made me think of that white sedan. What if he had a mentor who could have taught him right from wrong? What if he took his dad’s car to prove he was able to carry the mantle of mentor on his own? I still hold the lessons my father taught me to this day, and I have no idea where I’d be without them. Nonetheless, this also skewed my beliefs on impaired driving as a whole. What if the act could be prevented with the right mindset before anyone hit the roads? What if a seed of awareness could be planted by a mentor of their own — before anyone turned their keys while under the influence?

This is where driver’s education becomes crucial. For some, the only source of morals behind that wheel is the person sitting next to them. These mentors shouldn’t only be observers who watch their students, but a rock that their mentee can lean on. Respect is where most learners start their journey, because no one wants to feel like they're stupid while learning something new. This is why mentors must have patience when they are educating future drivers. Whenever every little mistake is met with backlash or annoyance, it can cause mentees to gain a large sense of anxiety and unnecessary pressure to prove themselves. Driving schools shape the minds of several students under their wing. That’s why these students need mentors who will serve as their moral compass; they can look back on in the future. Mentees don't want harsh remarks or insensitive leadership. They want mentors who embody guidance, patience, and the ability to understand that mistakes are part of the learning process, not signs of incompetence. With this, I truly believe that driver’s ed could take a remarkable turn for the better, with morals that are instilled on the road and in daily life.

However, this doesn’t have to be a task the schools face alone. We can all take a stand in unity against this war in our own unique ways. When I was a senior in high school, my friends and I would often go out together on the weekends. Something that would remain consistent would be what I like to call the “dedicated GPS.” Whoever sat in the front was always willing not only to hold the directions but also to advise the driver so they never needed to focus on anything other than the road ahead. “Oop, take a left here,” “Let them pass and then merge in the left lane.”

This was our way of holding each other accountable and ensuring the safety of our lives and the people around us. Nonetheless, just a speck in an array of methods to promote road safety — speaking out against irresponsible habits when with friends, holding a high standard when driving with others, or setting boundaries against distractions that could risk others. These may seem small, but their effects are undeniable. I wouldn’t always love the role of “dedicated GPS,” but whenever I was in it, all restraint faded when I remembered what was at stake.

Driving is a privilege — a privilege that can be deadly when left unchecked. That’s why we need to choose to come together as a community so that this war can finally come to an end. We can start by learning from the past to improve the world we live in today. If we can do that, we can do anything.