Why I Read Man’s Search for Meaning
I picked up Man’s Search for Meaning because I was looking for something deeper than motivation or business theory. I’ve built companies, managed employees, handled multi-million-dollar transactions—but none of that prepared me for the kind of internal reckoning that comes with being in federal custody. I needed something that could help me sit with the discomfort, not just escape it.
I’d heard about Viktor Frankl’s book for years. People described it as life-changing, and now that I’ve read it, I can see why. Frankl was a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor who endured the horrors of Auschwitz. What he discovered during that time—the connection between suffering and meaning—felt especially relevant to me in this stage of life.
I didn’t read this book because I’m comparing my experience to what Frankl endured. Nothing I’ve gone through can match the brutality of Nazi death camps. But I do believe, like Frankl, that we can’t always choose our suffering, but we can choose our response. That idea is helping shape how I use my time inside.
What I Learned From Reading This Book
Frankl’s core idea is that humans can endure almost any “how” if they have a strong enough “why.” That line hit me like a punch to the chest. Sitting in prison, stripped of my business, my freedom, and—at times—my sense of identity, I’ve had to ask myself some hard questions: What now? What for? What’s left to give?
Frankl saw people in the camps who wasted away when they lost hope. But others, even while starving and facing death, found meaning in small acts—helping a fellow prisoner, imagining themselves teaching after the war, or holding on to a personal purpose that no one could take away. His theory of “logotherapy”—helping people discover purpose through struggle—isn’t just an academic idea. It’s practical. It’s spiritual. It’s something I’ve started to live out.
I’ve also come to see that meaning doesn’t always have to come from grand gestures or public recognition. It can come from how we carry ourselves each day. For me, that means mentoring others, writing lessons for Prison Professors, and using my time to help people prepare for success upon release—even when no one’s looking.
Another concept that stuck with me was Frankl’s idea of tragic optimism—the ability to remain hopeful and purposeful even in the face of unavoidable pain. That’s where I am now. I can’t undo the decisions that led me here. But I can create something meaningful from this season, something that contributes to others and reinforces the man I want to be when I walk out of here.
How the Book Will Contribute to My Life Upon Release
This book is already influencing how I think about freedom. I used to define success by the numbers: revenue, square footage, net worth. Now, I’m starting to define success by meaning—what kind of impact I leave, what kind of legacy I build, and how I respond to hardship when everything else is stripped away.
When I get out, I want to carry this mindset forward. Whether I’m mentoring formerly incarcerated individuals, building a new business with a social mission, or simply being a better husband and citizen, I want every decision to come from a place of clarity and purpose.
I also want to teach what I’ve learned. Frankl wrote that suffering ceases to be suffering when we give it meaning. I’ve started building a curriculum around that idea—something I hope can be distributed to others inside who are still struggling to find their footing. I want to help people understand that you don’t have to wait for a program or a paycheck to start building your future. You just have to decide to take ownership—of your story, your mindset, and your next move.
This book didn’t just teach me how to survive a dark chapter—it taught me how to transform it into something meaningful. For that, I’m incredibly grateful.
