I anxiously sat in the crowded DMV, waiting to take my driving test. My knees jiggled uncontrollably, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I kept telling myself over and over—I couldn’t fail. Not today. What would I even tell my friends if I didn’t get a driver's license on my 16th birthday? The pressure was on, and my nerves weren’t helping, especially considering I’d already stumbled during my permit test at 15.
To clarify, I didn’t fail the written portion of the test; I failed the eyesight portion. Let me tell you, that was humbling. Not only did I feel momentarily defeated, but I also realized how much of a liability I’d be on the road without the right eyewear. Without the testing and all the formalities required to get my permit and license, I would’ve never known that my vision wasn’t fit for driving. A pair of glasses and some prescription sunglasses later, I was back in the game, ready to embrace the freedom that driving promised.
But my journey to becoming a licensed driver was a little different from most. For many teens, getting a license is all about the excitement of independence. Don’t get me wrong—I felt that too. But I was also consumed by a deep sense of fear. Driving wasn’t scary because I didn’t know the rules of the road or how to operate a car. It was scary because I understood the enormous weight of what it meant to sit behind the wheel.
Even before I started driving, I was the type of person who worried deeply about the people I loved. Some of my earliest memories involve me feeling anxious when my parents would leave without me, worrying about whether they’d make it back safely. Once I got behind the wheel, that responsibility felt overwhelming.
When I sat at a stoplight, I’d look at the cars around me and imagine their stories. I’d see an elderly woman and think about someone’s grandma baking cookies, or a young mom with her baby in the backseat, probably heading home to her family after a long day. Maybe I’d see a college student whose family loved him more than he could ever know. You never know someone’s story, and driving recklessly could end someone’s chapter prematurely. I realized that driving isn’t just about getting from one place to another—it’s about protecting lives, including your own.
I learned this lesson in a deeply personal way the day I got a phone call telling me my brother had been in a car accident. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, but there was significant damage to his car and to the other vehicle, which belonged to an elderly couple. The man in the other car had just had back surgery the day before, and their only grandchild was with them. My brother had saved for months to buy his new truck, and he’d only had it for a week. Although the accident wasn’t his fault, hearing about it made my stomach drop, and I could feel bile rising in my throat. The thought of how much worse it could have been was overwhelming. In that moment, I truly understood how quickly lives can change on the road—and how even one mistake can ripple out to affect so many people.
Experiences like this are why I believe driver education is so important. The knowledge I gained from my parents and formal training has shaped the driver I’ve become. My parents drilled into my head that texting and driving is non-negotiable, seat belts are always a must, and drinking and driving is never acceptable. Those lessons stuck with me and became habits that guide me every time I get behind the wheel.
Reckless driving has become far too normalized in our culture. We live in a time where instant gratification is everywhere, and too many teens rush to get their licenses without fully appreciating the responsibility that comes with it. Education is the foundation of safe driving, and it needs to be taken seriously. It’s not just about passing a test; it’s about recognizing that every time you get in the car, you’re holding other people’s lives in your hands.
As a driver, I try to lead by example by staying focused and cautious on the road. I also speak up when I see others driving irresponsibly. I don’t care if my friends think I’m “lame” for refusing to answer texts while driving or for making everyone buckle up in my car. I know how quickly life can change in the blink of an eye. Whether it’s reminding a friend to put their phone away or encouraging someone to call an Uber instead of driving impaired, I believe these small actions can literally save lives.
Driving is a privilege, not a right, and with that privilege comes a massive responsibility. I’m committed to being a better, safer driver every day—not just for myself, but for my family, my friends, and everyone else on the road. The next time you drive, remember that someone is counting on their mom, dad, daughter, or son to make it home safely.