Psychiatrist, Viktor Frankl, often wrote about the meaninglessness of his patients' lives.
He was able to sympathize with them in a powerful way, since he spent part of World
War II in a concentration camp. He remembered the dark weeks of 1944 vividly: the
numbness of the gray days, the cold sameness of every dreary morning.
Suddenly, like a bolt of bright colors, came the stunning whisper that the Allies had
landed at Normandy. The push was on. The Germans were running. The tide of the war
had turned. "By Christmas we'll be released!" they told each other.
