I never grew up with phones attached to the wall or cameras that needed film. My generation has always had a device within reach. I rely on my phone for music, photos, directions, and staying connected to the people I care about. I love the convenience of it, but I also became aware early on that this convenience comes with real risks. Technology has made life easier in so many ways, yet it has also become one of the biggest causes of impaired driving. When most people hear the word “impaired,” they think of alcohol or substances, but I have learned that distraction can be just as dangerous. A moment of looking down can change someone’s entire life.

Every time I drive down a busy street, I see at least a handful of people looking at their screens instead of the road. Some are typing, some are scrolling, some are barely paying attention. Seeing that so often shifted the way I think about driving. It made me realize that unsafe driving does not always look dramatic. It can be a quick glance, a notification, a song change, or a habit that feels harmless. That understanding has shaped the way I approach driving every day.

I have been driving my Volkswagen Beetle for three years, and it is the one thing I take the most pride in. I saved for it, I take care of it, and I try to treat driving as something that deserves my full attention. In the beginning, though, I had a habit that I didn’t think much about. I would call someone before I even pulled out of a parking spot. Hearing a familiar voice made me feel less alone, especially on long or late drives. The call made me less tempted to look at notifications or check messages, but it still divided my attention. Over time, I noticed I would miss small details, like a sudden brake light or a pedestrian stepping toward the crosswalk. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough to make me rethink my routine.

Eventually, I started turning on Do Not Disturb as soon as I got in the car. I also created a playlist so I wouldn’t be tempted to shuffle through songs. Those small changes made a bigger difference than I expected. I felt calmer, more aware, and genuinely safer. It wasn’t about fear. It was about realizing that my attention is the only thing I fully control when I’m behind the wheel.

My awareness grew even more by watching my friends drive. I have seen everything: friends checking texts at stop signs, scrolling through music while turning, looking at Snapchats while inching through traffic, or leaning over to grab something from the floor. I can’t count the number of times I have had to say, “I’ll read it for you,” or “Please pay attention.” The part that worried me most was that they didn’t think of these actions as real risks. To them, these were quick tasks that didn’t “count” because the car wasn’t moving fast or because they felt confident multitasking. But driving is not something you can half-focus on. Those tiny gaps in awareness are exactly how accidents happen.

One moment that truly changed the way I think about impaired driving happened last year. One of my close friends was involved in a preventable accident. She wasn’t drinking, she wasn’t speeding, and she wasn’t doing anything reckless in the traditional sense. She was driving home from work and reached over to change a song on her phone. That was it. A two-second decision. While she was looking down, the car in front of her stopped suddenly at a yellow light. She slammed on her brakes, but it was too late. She hit the back of the car hard enough to total hers. The other driver ended up with minor injuries, and my friend walked away physically fine, but emotionally she was shaken. She cried for days because she knew she was lucky. She also knew it could have been worse. That experience scared me, not just because it happened to someone close to me, but because it was a distraction I had seen her do and seen myself tempted to do hundreds of times.

After her accident, I became even more intentional with my habits. I keep my phone far enough away that I physically can’t reach it. If I need directions or music, I set everything before leaving. If I feel lonely or anxious, I wait until I arrive to call someone. And when I’m in someone else’s car, I speak up. I would rather risk sounding annoying than stay silent and hope nothing bad happens.

I also wish technology did more to help people stay focused. I think phones should come with a built-in driver mode that turns on automatically when the car is in motion. It would silence notifications, send automatic replies, limit alerts to only emergency contacts, and block apps that encourage interaction. Even small features can make a difference. A simple progress log or journal could help people track how often they resist checking their phones, building accountability and awareness.

Seeing how easily someone can become impaired by distraction changed the way I think about driving. It shaped how I behave behind the wheel, how I support the people around me, and how seriously I take the responsibility of being a licensed driver. I know I cannot control other drivers, but I can control the choices I make. And I can encourage the same awareness in my friends, my family, and anyone who rides with me.

The more I learn and experience, the more committed I am to staying fully present when I drive. If it means turning the music down, putting the phone away, or asking a friend to handle something, it is worth it. Being focused saves lives. My friend’s accident, my own habits, and the risks I see every day all reinforced the same lesson: driving is not something to take lightly, and I have to treat every trip like it matters. Because it does.