I grew up in Wheeler County, where most things move slow except gossip and pickup trucks. If you want to learn about impaired driving, all you have to do is sit at the diner long enough. Someone will eventually say, “Bless his heart, he should never have been behind the wheel,” and the whole table nods in that Southern way that means agreement and judgment all at once. I used to think impaired driving was mostly a local hobby. Then I traveled across Europe, and I realized something important: human beings everywhere think they can multitask behind the wheel. The problem is global. Bless all our hearts.

To me, impaired driving means any situation where a driver is not able to think clearly, react quickly, or make safe decisions. It is not just drinking. It is not just drugs. It is anything that puts your brain somewhere other than the road. People often misunderstand impaired driving because they only picture the extreme cases. They imagine someone stumbling out of a bar or someone speeding with loud music shaking the windows. They do not imagine the tired mother leaving a late shift, the teenager scrolling at a red light, or the man who swears one drink with dinner is the same as water. Even people who have taken drivers education sometimes confuse feeling fine with being capable. Those are not the same thing. Confidence can be its own impairment.

Back home, the most common types of impairment I have seen include texting, fatigue, alcohol, and that famous lie, “I am fine.” Texting is probably the number one issue for my generation. Our phones are like extra limbs, and we panic if they are more than five feet away. Fatigue comes in a close second. People underestimate exhaustion because it sneaks up quietly. A tired brain reacts slowly, just like a brain under the influence. Alcohol and drugs still cause terrible decisions behind the wheel, but distraction has become the sneaky competitor that catches people off guard. Every one of these impairments has the same result: slower reflexes, poor judgment, and unsafe behavior.

When I moved to Spain, I realized the same issues appear everywhere. I saw adults balancing groceries, phone calls, and mopeds through busy streets as if they had eight arms. I watched teenagers step off trains and immediately open their phones, drifting into bicycle lanes like sleepwalkers. I also saw plenty of drivers who insisted they were “not tired, just a little worn out,” right before starting long drives. The exact same excuses used in Wheeler County were used in Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, and every train station in between. The truth became very clear to me: impaired driving is not a cultural flaw. It is a human habit.

Two stories shaped my awareness. The first happened in Georgia when a speaker came to our school and shared that he lost his younger sister because a driver answered a text message. He told us the driver believed he had looked away for only a second. The room went still. Months later in Spain, I saw a news story about a cyclist who was killed by a driver who admitted he was changing a song. Two tragedies. Two continents. Same choice. Same outcome. Hearing one and then seeing the other showed me how universal the issue is. It influenced the choices I make behind the wheel and the way I speak up when I am not the one driving.

Driver education programs can reduce impaired driving, but only when they are honest, practical, and memorable. Memorizing rules may help you pass a test, but it does not always change behavior. Real stories, visual demonstrations, and activities that show the effects of impairment stay with people longer. In Georgia, we watched a demonstration showing how far a car travels while someone reads a text. The distance was shocking. In Spain, our instructor slowed our reflexes in a simulation, and almost everyone failed to stay in the lane. Experiencing impairment, even in a controlled environment, makes people take it seriously. Another strength of these programs is that they teach people how to speak up when someone else is about to drive impaired. That skill is as important as personal responsibility.

I have learned that students can lead one another in powerful ways. Teenagers notice everything. We know who is exhausted, who is upset, who is distracted, and who is too stubborn to admit it. Leadership does not always look official. Sometimes it looks like me in the backseat saying, “Please put that phone down. I would like to live long enough to enjoy dinner.” Humor helps, but honesty is what makes it effective.

I have also led classroom discussions about distracted driving. When my drivers education teacher needed a volunteer, no one moved, so I raised my hand. I told my classmates about the story from home and the similar story from Spain. I joked that if anyone desperately needed to read a message, I would be happy to hold the wheel, but they would not like that outcome. The class laughed, but the message landed. Several students told me afterward that they moved their phones to their glove boxes because of that conversation.

I know I have a role to play in preventing impaired driving. I can keep my phone out of reach. I can choose not to drive when I am tired or upset. I can encourage my friends to make safer decisions. I can share the global perspective I gained from living abroad. Most importantly, I can continue speaking up, even when it feels uncomfortable. Every safe drive begins with a choice, and sometimes that choice just needs a voice behind it.

Impaired driving is not a rural problem or an American problem. It is a global issue caused by human habits that look the same everywhere. Education helps. Awareness helps. Humor helps. Courage helps most of all. I want to use mine to make every road I travel a little safer, whether it is in Wheeler County or halfway across the world.