If you drive (without pussyfooting)

every day

for two years straight

one day you’ll find yourself guiding a wheeled projectile, in excess of two thousand pounds, in and out of traffic at break neck speeds, as comfortably as you might find yourself reading at home in an armchair.

If you write (without pussyfooting)

every day

for two years straight

one day you’ll find yourself twisting the structures of the constitutions of the minds of strangers (and your own as well) as effortlessly as if you were recommending a good book.