Name: Walker Bishop
From: Marietta, Georgia

Every year, tens of thousands of lives are lost to automobile accidents on our very own streets. These troubling realities have shaped my understanding of driving and how I respond to potential distractions. Over time, I've become a more assertive driver because I've lost patience with those who compromise my and my loved ones' safety — even with good intentions. Fiddling with the radio dial? Frustrating. Staring at a cell phone at a red light? Unsafe. Even eating in the car can divert attention long enough to create dangerous close calls. These are all forms of distracted driving, many of which occur when people don't realize they’re not functioning as well as they should behind the wheel.

I wasn’t impaired when someone jumped into the street as I was about to make a turn. The person was jaywalking and didn’t expect a vehicle to round the corner into their path, catching them by surprise. They jumped back onto the curb just in time, but not before the sheer shock and panic compelled them to leap. In many ways, this story is common. We’ve all rushed across the street to avoid missing a bus, or anticipated that last step into traffic before a car ran a red light. But that day, I almost became the driver who ruined someone’s life.

What put me in that situation? My mind was somewhere else — on the math exam waiting for me when I got home. Whether it was stress or simple distraction, I was so preoccupied that I let my focus wane. And despite it all, I didn’t realize I was impaired until after the fact.

Impaired driving is often misunderstood because we tend to rank different impairments in a sort of hierarchy. We all agree that driving under the influence is terrible. But texting while driving? “Just for a second.” Driving while tired? “I’ll be fine.” Driving while upset? “I need to get out of here.” We justify these actions because they feel different, more justified, or less serious. Driver’s Ed can teach the mechanics of safe driving, but it can’t always overcome the psychological tricks we play on ourselves to justify risky behavior.

Among today’s drivers, especially those in my generation, distracted driving from cell phone use is the most common form of impairment. Texting, scrolling, changing music, or even just having a phone within reach creates a constant temptation that pulls attention from the road. Statistics show that texting while driving makes you 23 times more likely to crash. Yet another form of impairment, though rarely discussed, is fatigue. When you’re too tired, reaction time slows, judgment clouds, and crashes become inevitable. In severe cases of fatigue, a driver can experience a microsleep — blacking out for one or two seconds without realizing it. Emotional distress is another type of impairment that gets little attention. When someone is crying, angry, or panicking, their mind is not on the road. Their vision may blur from tears, their hands may shake, and their focus is elsewhere entirely.

My wake-up call came earlier this year during my junior year of high school. I’m sixteen, and I had just received devastating news that my grandmother — the woman who practically raised me — had suffered a massive stroke. I was inconsolable. I was sobbing beyond reason, yet I still got in my car because I felt I needed to get to the hospital immediately. I couldn’t see through my tears; my hands were trembling on the steering wheel, and my mind raced with every worst-case scenario. About ten minutes down Roswell Road, I ran a red light. I genuinely never saw it. A pickup truck swerved to miss me — its horn blaring — as I sailed through the intersection, completely unaware of what I’d done. The sound snapped me back to reality, and I pulled into a gas station, shaking uncontrollably.

I scared myself — not because I’d almost lost my life, but because I’d almost taken someone else’s. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t high. I wasn’t texting. But I was wholly impaired — and entirely responsible for having made the decision to drive while emotionally wrecked. Had I hit that truck, it would have been my fault, and no amount of grief would have excused my recklessness. I called one of my older brothers, and he came to drive me to Kennestone Hospital. That twenty-minute wait for him to arrive felt eternal, but it was the right choice. When we think about the 40,000 Americans who die every year in car crashes, it’s important to remember that many of those deaths involve drivers who thought they were fine — who didn’t believe their particular form of impairment was serious enough to matter.

Driver’s Ed and traffic school courses are most effective when they go beyond the manual and address the psychology behind driving. The best programs don’t just teach that certain actions are dangerous; they help us recognize where we might falter and guide us through those impulsive decisions. They work best when paired with interactive lessons, firsthand stories, and honest discussions about the emotional and social pressures that lead to impaired driving. What changed my behavior wasn’t just knowing the statistics — it was confronting my own near miss and realizing that, despite good intentions, I was capable of making a fatal mistake. When people understand that driving is statistically more dangerous than being deployed to a war zone, they start taking it more seriously.

From a personal perspective, I’ve made a commitment to be part of the solution. I’m the person who speaks up when I see friends making dangerous choices. When a friend pulls out their phone at a red light, I offer to change their music or read their messages. When someone is too tired but insists on driving home, I offer them my couch or call them a ride. When someone is crying or visibly upset, I don’t let them drive away alone. These conversations aren’t easy — but they’re necessary.

If everyone understood that impairment isn’t just about drugs or alcohol, but about being truly capable and alert behind the wheel, the roads would be far safer. Sometimes the hardest and most responsible choice is simply not to turn the key. With 40,000 fatalities every year, there’s no such thing as safe impaired driving.