Begrudge: (v) to envy someone the possession or enjoyment of something.
Civility, courtesy, trust.
These are three different profiles we take in dealing with each other.
We try at all times to keep a “civil tongue” about us. That means if we discover we don’t like somebody, we try not to turn it into a clash or all-out war.
But civility does lend itself to duplicity. In other words, we’re nice to somebody’s face but speak great harm to their back side.
And people actually want more than civility.
So to those individuals who might be worthy of our confidence, we extend courtesy.
That means that even when we think they’re lying, we pretend they’re not. If we think they’ve bit off more than they can chew, we remain silent and let them swallow or choke on it.
Most people are satisfied with being granted courtesy, even though the station does not offer the possibility of tuning themselves up better.
What we often begrudge–what we refuse to grant people, which is the prize above all gifts–is trust.
Trust is that abiding notion that I believe in you enough that I will allow you to lead me in a direction which I may not totally understand, but because it’s you, I will follow.
Even though I have to admit that trust is hard to come by, when human beings prove themselves worthy of it, it is cruel to lump them in with the mass of amateur deceivers … and begrudge them the opportunity to rise and be respected.