I Wouldn’t Change a Thing

Sean Greenspan
Jun 4
3 min read

Updated: Jun 5

It’s Saturday, May 17th, 2026, in Denver, Colorado—a perfect 75-degree, sunny day. Friends are out mountain biking, hiking, camping, or at the gym. And me? I’m lying alone on a heating pad in a basement, eyes closed, trying to distract myself from the pain. No outdoor plans, no adventure. Not how I usually spend my time.

Sunlight streams through a narrow skylight in a minimalist, empty room with bare walls and floor, creating a serene and calm ambiance.

This isn’t a complaint. And I’m not here to praise the weather either. This is just the truth of where I am.

And even still—I feel grateful. I’m content. I’m asking the world for nothing. I don’t need anything to be different. I’m just along for the ride.

I trust the process. In fact, I love being part of the process—not to control it, but to co-create it.

Not from force, but from faith.

You can only control what you can control. The rest is surrender, trust, and patience.

It’s 2025. May rolls around, the air starts to warm. I know I’ll have the energy and clarity to focus on what I love again. And I’ll carry with me the memory of not being able to. That memory is a gift. And for that, I thank this injury.

I’m also looking at the rest of this year—Q3, Q4—with total openness. Outdoor adventure. Cultural exploration. A full, rich life. And oddly enough, this injury is giving me the space to make that possible.

It’s made my priorities crystal clear.

I don’t need to reply to every email right away.

I don’t need to fix every problem.

I don’t need to approve every piece of content.

My team can handle it. And they do.

When you’re forced to conserve time, energy, and movement, you get radically clear about what only you can do. I’ve realized my real role is:

Solving only the biggest fires
Building systems so others know what to do
Leading, selling, and setting the tone

Yellow stick notes beside with white Apple magic mouse and white Apple keyboard.

And all of that? It doesn’t require 60 hours a week. It requires intention, not time. A few hours—on a plane, a weekend, a walk—that’s enough.

That realization alone? That’s worth a million bucks. Actually… more. That knowledge, lived and felt—not just intellectually understood—is worth five or ten million in future freedom, fulfillment, and peace.

Right now, I’m full. I’m whole.

Yes, the pain is annoying. The limitations are frustrating.

But this is also a 24/7 opportunity to practice: Where do I focus my energy?

And today, I’m choosing to focus it here—on these words. While I’m writing this, the pain disappears. When I think about it again—it’s back. Then I return to writing, and it fades once more.

This isn’t about ignoring your body or staying distracted.

It’s about choosing your focus. That’s power. That’s a gift.

And I truly believe—I needed this.

Not that I wanted it. Not that it’s fun.

But I needed it.

Maybe I was on a path to a “pretty good” life. This might be the thing that kicks me into greatness.

Seriously—this might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Lying on my back for a week in intense pain might be the catalyst that changes everything.

Fast forward to 2035. I’m in the yard playing with my kids. I’m healthy—not 99%, but 100%—because this injury forced me to go all in. And I’m present, because I learned how to prioritize. This small moment could be the seed of a future I’ll cherish.

So I’m using it. I’m keeping that in mind.

And if it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, then why not expect that?