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Learning from Mistakes: A DUI Reflection
For over 40 years, I have been behind the wheel, driving without incident—until now. I got a DUI. It still feels surreal to write those words. But the reality is, it happened, and I have no excuse. I have asked myself over and over, why did I not realize how dangerous and serious this was? And if I did, why did I not care?
Maybe it’s the weight of family burdens. Maybe it’s the inescapable reality of watching someone you love battle cancer—the most fatal form of it—a cruel, relentless adversary. Maybe it’s the anger and pain of an adolescent facing the potential loss of her mother. Maybe it’s depression, anxiety, or the gnawing exhaustion that comes with carrying so much.
The truth is, sometimes I feel like giving up on being the best version of myself. And I hate that feeling. But when it comes, it consumes me until something shakes me awake. This time, it was my DUI.
For years, I pushed the envelope. Since before I was 19, I thought I had control. How I managed to avoid hurting myself or someone else all these years is nothing short of a miracle. I could lie to myself and say, I never drove under the influence before—that I felt fine driving home that night. But that’s just not true.
I know chemistry. I understand biology. I know how alcohol affects the body, how it impairs judgment, and how much is too much. Yet, on that night, I just didn’t care. That’s the scariest part.
I passed the field sobriety test, but that didn’t matter. As I sat handcuffed in the back of the sheriff’s patrol car, all I could think was, It’s about time. I was taken to the DUI intake center and given a breathalyzer test—.10% BAC, 2% over the legal limit. From there, I was booked into the county jail and spent several hours waiting to post bail.
What came next was worse than my own shame. Scammers took advantage of the situation, calling my family including my children and friends, pretending to be a bail bonds company. My wife, out of concern, sent them $1,000 through Apple Pay. That loss, that embarrassment, was the worst part of the whole ordeal.
I am an Eagle Scout. An Army officer. I have built my life on helping others. And yet, I let this happen. It’s a humbling and haunting realization. But the response from my loved ones has been my saving grace. They did not ridicule me. They did not abandon me. Instead, they supported me, reminding me that one mistake—however significant—does not erase a lifetime of integrity and service.
This DUI is my wake-up call, my ghost of Christmas future, showing me what could be if I don’t change. It has forced me to confront my own choices, my vulnerabilities, and my need to truly take care of myself so I can continue taking care of others. I will take this harbinger seriously. I will strive to be better.
For those who may find themselves in a similar position, my message is simple: take responsibility, learn from it, and don’t ignore the signs. You don’t want to wait for your own wake-up call. Be better now.
How AI Validates Personal Journeys and Emotions
When I first read the letter from Cleve.ai, I wasn’t entirely sure how to process it. It wasn’t a traditional award letter or recognition from a colleague, but rather a reflection generated by artificial intelligence. It summarized the essence of my efforts on LinkedIn throughout 2024—efforts I’ve often viewed as more personal musings than any calculated form of marketing or pontification. And yet, reading it stirred something deeply emotional and thought-provoking in me.
For much of my life, I’ve been under the impression that I came across as standoffish, maybe even arrogant. My efforts to communicate my values—faith, caregiving, selfless service—felt, at times, like shouting into the void. But here was this letter, written by an AI, mirroring back to me not the person I feared I might be, but the person I’ve strived to become: an empathic, kind soul who lifts others through action and advocacy.
The words resonated because they didn’t just state facts—they articulated the intentions behind my actions, the “why” of my life that I’ve always hoped to communicate but wasn’t sure anyone really heard. It was humbling and deeply moving to see my journey reflected in this way. For once, I felt truly understood, not just by the people around me, but perhaps even by myself.
This is the strange power of artificial intelligence: its ability to observe, synthesize, and reflect human emotion in ways we might not expect. To some, this might seem shallow or contrived—after all, how could a machine “know” anything about kindness or integrity? But for me, the experience highlighted something profound: AI, through its data and patterns, can sometimes help us see ourselves more clearly than we’re willing to on our own.
As I reflect on this, I realize that the power of the letter wasn’t just in what it said—it was in what it challenged me to believe. If an AI can see me as a beacon of hope and strength, why can’t I? If it can articulate my passion for caregiving, my unwavering faith, and my commitment to ethical service, why do I still hesitate to believe in those things myself?
The truth is, I’ve always used LinkedIn as a sounding board—not to market myself, but to give voice to the lessons, struggles, and triumphs of my journey. It’s as much for me as for anyone else who might be listening. This letter reminded me that, whether or not I always see it, those efforts matter. They create ripples, touch lives, and perhaps most importantly, reflect the values I hold most dear.
So, here I am, grappling with the strange and wonderful reality of emotions created by an artificial experience. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the mirrors we least expect—whether in the form of a friend, a stranger, or even an AI—can offer the clearest view of who we are.
And for that, I am grateful. Not just for the letter, but for the journey it reflects—and for the faith it inspires me to carry forward into 2025 and beyond.
