I’ll never get into a car I’m not ready to drive.

Not when I’m tired. Not when I’m upset. Not when I’m distracted. Not when I don’t trust myself to be focused.

I made that promise to myself long before I even had a license.

When you grow up hearing about the dangers of impaired driving, it feels like a distant concept—something that happens to “other people.” But it’s not just about alcohol or drugs. It’s about anything that clouds judgment, dulls reaction time, or disconnects you from the reality that, behind the wheel, you hold other people’s lives in your hands.

For me, “impaired driving” means driving in any state where I can’t give 100% of my attention to the road. It’s misunderstood because people think impairment only comes from substances, when in reality, distraction, stress, and fatigue can be just as dangerous. I’ve seen friends grab their keys after all-nighters, yawning and half-awake, insisting they’re “fine.” I’ve seen people text while driving down icy Wisconsin roads, convinced that “it’s only for a second.” Impairment doesn’t always look reckless—it often looks normal. That’s what makes it terrifying.

One memory changed everything for me. It was the night after a varsity softball tournament. My team had just played four back-to-back games under the sun. We were exhausted, hungry, and emotionally drained after a tough loss. One of my teammates offered me a ride home. As she fumbled with her phone to open the GPS, I noticed her eyes drooping, her yawns stretching longer and longer. I offered to call my mom instead, and I’ll never forget her look of relief. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I probably shouldn’t drive right now.”

That moment stuck with me—not because anything bad happened, but because it could have. We were lucky. Most people don’t get that second chance to make the right decision.

Driver’s education taught me more than the rules of the road; it taught me respect. Respect for the vehicle, for my passengers, and for every stranger whose life intersects with mine on the highway. It emphasized how impairment—whether it’s from alcohol, drugs, or even emotions—changes reaction times and decision-making. When someone drives distracted or tired, they’re not just risking their own life—they’re gambling with everyone else’s.

But here’s the thing: education doesn’t just change knowledge; it changes culture. The best driver’s ed programs don’t just show statistics or crash videos—they help students feel the weight of responsibility. They give us the space to reflect, to ask questions, and to make personal commitments like the one I made to myself.

What makes these programs effective is their honesty. They don’t sugarcoat consequences or rely solely on fear—they build empathy. They teach us that safe driving isn’t about being perfect; it’s about being present.

My role in preventing impaired driving starts with that same presence. I speak up when someone offers to drive but clearly shouldn’t. I volunteer to be the designated driver when my friends go out. I check in on them after long shifts or stressful nights. I remind them—and myself—that there’s no shame in waiting, asking for help, or calling a ride. Responsibility isn’t weakness; it’s strength.

I’ve also learned that safety is contagious. When one person in a group refuses to drive impaired, it empowers others to do the same. I’ve seen it shift mindsets—from “I’m fine” to “Let’s be smart.” It’s a small cultural change, but that’s where all change begins—with one decision, one choice, one driver deciding that no destination is worth a life.

And just as contagious are unsafe habits. One person at a party says, "hey guys I'm going to Taco Bell!" And suddenly you have drunk and/or tired teenagers piling into a car that's certainly not meant to seat however many kids are piling in. 

So yes, I’ll never get into a car I’m not ready to drive. That’s not fear—it’s respect. It’s understanding that a car isn’t just a machine; it’s a responsibility. And every time I hold those keys, I’m reminded of the promise I made to myself—and the people I love—to always choose awareness over impulse.

That’s how driver’s education shaped me: it didn’t just make me a driver. It made me accountable.