Jaylynn is the kind of person who could light up any room. She is funny, loud, full of energy, and always the one to make everyone laugh at family gatherings. She had just gotten her driver’s license, and like most new drivers, she was proud of her independence. Driving made her feel grown up, free, and unstoppable. One night, she was on her way home from a friend’s house and decided to text her mom that she was almost there. In the few seconds she looked down at her phone, her car drifted into the other lane and hit another car head-on. Thankfully, Jaylynn was okay physically. She had a few bruises and was badly shaken, but she was alive. Her car, though, was completely totaled. After the accident, Jaylynn was scared to drive again for months. She kept replaying the crash in her head and saying she wished she could take that one text back. Our family changed after that, too. We all became more careful about driving. 

Around the same time, my dad told me something I hadn’t known before. When he was younger, his best friend died in a drunk driving accident. They had grown up together, played sports, and basically did everything side by side. One night, after a party, his friend insisted he was fine to drive home even though he had been drinking. My dad tried to stop him, but his friend laughed it off and drove away. That was the last time my dad ever saw him. His friend lost control of his car on a curve, and he didn’t make it. Even though it happened long before I was born, I can still see how much it affects my dad. When he talks about it, his voice always gets quiet, and there’s this heavy look in his eyes. He told me he still blames himself sometimes for not doing more to stop his friend, even though it wasn’t his fault. He’s never been the kind of parent to say, “Be careful,” casually; he really means it.

Because of my dad and Jaylynn, I see driving completely differently now. I don’t think of it as something simple or routine anymore. It’s a privilege, and it comes with a lot of responsibility. I keep my phone out of reach when I drive, and I try to stay fully focused on the road. I don’t even like it when passengers try to show me something on their phones. If I’m ever in a car with someone who’s not driving safely, I speak up, even if it’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable in the moment, but not nearly as uncomfortable as losing someone would be.

Distracted and impaired driving are choices people make, thinking nothing will happen to them. They think, “It’s just one text,” or “I’m fine to drive,” and they don’t realize how quickly things can go wrong. I’ve learned that real maturity is understanding that your actions don’t just affect you. They ripple outward, touching everyone around you.

Because I’ve experienced how close a moment of distraction can come to tragedy, I’ve also started thinking about how to prevent it for others. One idea is to create programs in schools that combine personal stories with practical demonstrations. Hearing someone talk about a crash they were in, or seeing simulations of what even a few seconds of distraction can do, makes the danger feel real. Social media campaigns targeting young drivers can also help, especially when they feature peers sharing lessons learned. Communities could host “focus challenges,” where drivers pledge to keep their phones away for a week or a month, with small incentives for safe driving. Encouraging parents to lead by example, having honest conversations about consequences, and offering mentorship programs for new drivers can also make a difference. Education, empathy, and accountability together can help reduce distracted driving before it turns into tragedy.

Now, whenever I get behind the wheel, I think about Jaylynn and my dad. Their pain became my lesson. Their loss became my motivation. And every time I drive, I carry both of them with me. Maybe that’s what awareness really is: remembering. Remembering that life can change in an instant, that every choice matters, and that we owe it to ourselves and to the people we love to stay alert, focused, and grateful for every single mile we get to travel safely.