One of the most memorable moments of my life was crossing the finish line of the Comrades Ultra-Marathon.

After eighty-nine kilometers (fifty-six miles), and a grueling eleven hours and thirty-four minutes on the road, hand-in-hand with my mom, I crossed the finish line. We gave each other a hug and each shed a tear. It was a powerful moment I will never forget.

And it got me thinking about finishing lines—about how we don’t need them just at the end of a long hard race, but at the end of long hard day, too.

I awoke this morning to the dragon’s hot breath on my face. I was disoriented, not quite knowing where I was. I struggled to open one eye. Then another.

And there he was. A dragon. A very big dragon. With three heads. Sitting in my bedroom, like so many mornings before, he was waiting. His heads swerved back and forth, dancing in the dim light. Each head alternately belching fire and hissing smoke.

Several years ago I went through a fairly significant examination of life, work, family, art and where it all was headed. I had just ended a pretty intense season in which I found myself spread thin and a little over-extended, and I knew that I couldn’t sustain the pace indefinitely. Still, it was a critical juncture in my life and career. I was looking for some insight on how to stay engaged and keep moving forward.

During that season, I was in a meeting in which a South African friend asked, “Do you know what the most valuable land in the world is?” The rest of us were thinking, “Well, probably the diamond mines of Africa, or maybe the oil fields of the middle east?”