About a week before my dad died, I sat at his hospital bedside.

His legs had been amputated below the knee due to complications from diabetes. His eyesight was failing due to retinopathy. His body was ravaged from years of living with a host of ailments: kidney failure, gout, arthritis, sepsis, intestinal bleeding and a rare, painful and incurable disease called calciphylaxis.

He barely resembled the man most people knew—a self-made billionaire who had worked his way up from an auto parts clerk to become the owner of more than 40 car dealerships, the NBA’s Utah Jazz, and a variety of businesses that employed thousands of people nationwide.

Instead, his long work hours, poor diet, habit of skipping breakfast and often lunch, lack of exercise, not visiting the doctor, getting little sleep, and living constantly under high stress had taken its toll.

At 64, he had literally worked himself to death.

I sat there in the hospital, watching his rapid demise, and asked myself a question that the outside world might have found preposterous:

“Is this man successful?”

It was a profound moment for me. From that day forward, my life took a new direction.