What I Had To Unlearn

Before I ever touched a steering wheel, I thought I already knew what it meant to be a good driver.

Like many kids, I learned about driving from the passenger seat. I watched the adults around me navigate busy roads while carrying on conversations, changing the music, answering phone calls, or glancing at a text message. They made it look effortless. To me, the ability to do all of those things at once was a sign of confidence. I thought experienced drivers had reached a point where they could safely multitask because they had been driving for so long.

Looking back, I realize I started learning driving habits years before I ever earned my license.

One of the people I looked up to most was my grandmother. When I was younger, she was involved in a devastating car accident after another driver crossed into her lane while distracted by a phone. Thankfully, she survived, but the accident left a lasting impact on our family. What makes the story even more unbelievable is that almost five years later, she was involved in another serious accident on the exact same road under nearly identical circumstances. Both crashes were reminders of how quickly distracted driving can change lives forever.

As I got older, though, I noticed something that confused me. Every once in a while, even my grandmother would glance at her phone while she was driving. She wasn't scrolling through social media or constantly texting, but she would occasionally check her screen. At first, I didn't think much of it. In fact, it reinforced what I already believed. If someone who had been driving for decades could do that, then maybe it wasn't as dangerous as everyone said. Maybe experience gave you the ability to handle distractions.

Now I understand that wasn't what I was seeing at all.

I wasn't watching someone who had mastered distracted driving. I was watching someone who, like many experienced drivers, had become comfortable enough to believe that one quick glance wouldn't matter. That realization has stayed with me because it showed me how easy it is for anyone, regardless of experience, to develop habits they never intended to have. Distracted driving doesn't always begin with reckless intentions. Sometimes it begins with confidence that slowly turns into complacency.

My cousin unintentionally reinforced those same ideas. Since she got her license before I did, I spent plenty of time riding with her. She was comfortable behind the wheel and would occasionally use her phone while driving without seeming worried. Watching her, I remember thinking, "Maybe that's just what happens once you've been driving for a while." I thought multitasking behind the wheel was almost a milestone, something that came with experience. But I also noticed moments when she drifted slightly in her lane, reacted late to traffic, or simply wasn't paying close attention, even when her phone wasn't in her hand. Those small mistakes made me realize how much concentration driving actually requires.

When I finally got my own license, I found myself repeating some of the same behaviors I had spent years watching. I wasn't constantly looking at my phone, but I would occasionally change a song, glance at a notification, or send a quick reply if I thought I had a moment. It didn't feel reckless because it felt normal. Those habits had become normal long before I ever started driving.

The longer I drove, however, the more my perspective changed. I realized that driving demands far more attention than I had ever appreciated as a passenger. In just a few seconds, traffic patterns can change, someone can stop unexpectedly, or a child can run into the street. Those "quick" moments I once believed were harmless suddenly felt much longer when I understood everything that could happen during them.

More importantly, I began thinking about the people around me. Every car on the road carries someone's parent, grandparent, sibling, friend, or child. My grandmother was one of those people twice. The decisions I make behind the wheel don't just affect me—they affect complete strangers whose families expect them to come home safely. That realization completely changed the way I view distracted driving.

Today, I no longer think using a phone while driving looks confident or impressive. Honestly, I find it disrespectful. It shows a lack of respect for the responsibility that comes with driving and for the lives of everyone sharing the road. The drivers I admire now aren't the ones who can do everything at once. They're the ones who willingly ignore the notification, let the call go to voicemail, and keep both their eyes and attention where they belong.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned isn't simply how to drive—it's how to unlearn. Sometimes the people we admire unintentionally teach us habits we shouldn't carry forward. Growing up means recognizing those habits, questioning them, and choosing to do better. I am grateful I recognized my own behavior early enough to change it. Every time I get behind the wheel now, I remind myself that real confidence isn't proving I can multitask. Real confidence is understanding that nothing on my phone is more important than making sure everyone, including myself, gets home safely.