The Feeding Tube and the Window

There is something deeply symbolic about watching Charlotte sit by the window with a feeding tube in place. The tube is visible. The reality of her condition is undeniable. And yet, she stares outside with curiosity. Birds. Wind. Passing light. Life continues.

The feeding tube represents intervention. Effort. Medical necessity. The window represents perspective. Both exist at the same time.

In corporate life, we often become consumed by the “feeding tubes” — the urgent interventions. The restructurings. The risk assessments. The quarterly pressures. Necessary, yes. But not the whole picture.

Charlotte does not allow the tube to define her identity. She still engages with the world.

There’s a lesson in that. You can be navigating treatment, complexity, and uncertainty — and still remain curious. You can be carrying risk — and still remain engaged.

In SBA lending, there are borrowers navigating acquisition debt, operational transitions, and economic shifts. It’s easy to focus exclusively on the mechanics. But behind the mechanics is aspiration. The desire to build something. To own something. To contribute to a community.

The feeding tube is the structure. The window is the purpose. Without structure, purpose fails. Without purpose, structure feels hollow.

Charlotte has both. She receives structured care — measured feedings, timed medications, oncology oversight. And she still finds the window. There are days when I am tempted to let work consume everything. Deadlines. Calls. Analysis. Then I see her — tube and all — gazing outside as if nothing essential has changed.An d I’m reminded: Complication does not eliminate wonder. Responsibility does not eliminate joy. Intervention does not eliminate life.

One day, the window will be empty. And I will be grateful that I chose to sit beside her — not just manage her treatment.

In business, perspective matters. Structure the deal. Analyze the risk. Underwrite responsibly. But don’t forget the window. Don’t forget why it matters.

Charlotte, five pounds and fiercely alive, reminds me every day: Even in complexity, look outward. Even in treatment, live.