When people hear the words “impaired driving,” they often think of simple terms: drinking after driving, texting behind the wheel, or falling asleep while driving.  But to me, impaired driving means something much heavier. It means stolen futures, broken families, and communities like mine grieving losses that could have been prevented. It is a quiet blanket of grief that lingers around long after the headline fades. I grew up in a town where impaired driving has taken more lives than I can count on one hand. It is not just an issue, to me - it is personal, heartbreaking, and something that has shaped the way I see responsibility behind the wheel.  

People often think impaired driving is easy to recognize. After seeing all the articles about the lives taken, or knowing they have completed driver's education, they should “know better.” They see an impaired driver as someone stumbling to their car after a night at the bar. But impairment is not just one look. Simply someone who is “just tired” or someone who says they are “fine to drive” after two drinks. Even educated drivers underestimate how quickly impairment can occur, how subtle the warning signs can be, or how easy it is to overestimate their own abilities. 

The most common types of impairment today - alcohol, drugs, texting, and fatigue - all come from different behaviors but share one thing. They steal the ability to make wise decisions. Alcohol and drugs blur judgment, slow reactions, and create false confidence. Distracted driving pulls a driver's attention off the road for even one second, but that can lead to consequences that will last a lifetime. Fatigue affects the brain almost the same way alcohol does, reducing awareness and slowing decision-making. All these types of impairment create unsafe drivers, not because people do not know the rules, but because everyone thinks “it will not happen to me”, until it does. I know I did.  

My awareness of impaired driving did not come from driver's education; it came before that from real loss. My freshman year, two girls who had just graduated from my high school were hit by a drunk, wrong-way driver; they were just starting their lives at college. Their deaths shattered my community, and it became the first time I truly understood that someone else's decision could take everything from you. Later that year, a boy with whom I had grown up as a friend of my brother was hit by an 85-year-old drunk driver; although he survived, he suffered a severe brain injury. He had to go through countless hours of mental and physical therapy. She had 85 years to learn the responsibility of safe driving and still chose to drive while under the influence. His story reminds me that impaired driving not only takes lives, but it can alter someone's future forever.  

The reality of impaired driving hit me even closer when one of my best friends, Kirsten Phillips, died in a car crash. There is nothing that prepares you for that kind of grief. I went to school that morning and came back changed forever. Nothing prepared me for knowing that I would no longer be laughing with her again, never get one of the Kirsten hugs again, or see her bright shining smile across the room. I came home that day, asking someone to wake me up from this dream. I never got to see her walk on that stage at graduation or live her best life in college, which is why I live for her every single day. I could not get behind the wheel for at least a week. Since that day, impaired driving became an echo that rang through my head with every choice I make in a car. Her death taught me that the choices we make while driving do not just impact one person: they change the lives of everyone around them as well. 

These stories have shaped how I think about impaired driving more than any lesson or lecture ever has. They made me highly aware of the responsibility I carry every time I get behind the wheel. They influence decisions I make automatically: not picking up my phone, not getting into a car with an impaired driver, calling someone out if they try to drive after drinking, and always offering to drive someone home after a night out. 

I do not believe that driver's education and traffic safety programs play a significant enough role in preventing impaired driving when they focus solely on memorizing traffic rules rather than providing more education on decision-making. I think the programs that are most effective show the human impact of impaired driving - through real stories, survivors' experiences, and truthful conversations. That would help students understand that driving is not just operating a car; it is managing responsibility. They teach that your decisions affect strangers, families, and entire communities. When students emotionally understand the cost of a bad decision, that lesson sticks with them far longer than a test score.  

My personal role in preventing impaired driving starts with the choices I make and the influence I have on other people. I speak up when someone is about to make a bad decision. I always offer rides. I share the experience that shaped me so that others understand the feeling before having to feel it for themselves. My training in driver's education helps me understand why certain behaviors are dangerous, but my personal losses give me the courage to make sure people listen.  

Every driver has a choice. Every time we sit behind the wheel, we decide who we will be as drivers. I have seen what impaired driving can take from us, and because of that, I choose to be someone who protects others even when it can be inconvenient or uncomfortable. In the end, it is not just about impairment. It is about the decision that leads to it. And I will continue to choose the right one - every single time.