Back in college, a friend asked why I never had music playing in my apartment. For one, I didn’t own speakers. I was also often overwhelmed by the sounds of my brazen upstairs neighbors (problem #2) and their parties that crawled all over the building and out to the street, right by my bedroom window every night of the week (problem #3, 4, 5… you get the point). All of this excess noise made me think that music would only exacerbate my struggle to focus on the tasks in front of me. How could I read or write (or, more realistically, concentrate on whatever internet rabbit hole I descended into) with more sound in the background?

It’s not surprising that the concept of “music to study to” has always confused me, although when you wander into any university library, you’ll see plenty of students with headphones on. Some of them presumably are listening to playlists full of their favorite songs—I wouldn’t doubt that a few are sporting silent pairs just to ward off unwanted interactions, as well—but I’ve always wondered how that primary group who are listening to music can focus on whatever they’re working on.

According to a study from the University of Phoenix, my curiosity is valid. Researchers found that it’s difficult for our brains to process lyrics or a complicated string of notes in addition to completing a cognitive task like reading or writing. When we try to do so, our brains are multi-tasking, and this seems like a reasonable conclusion. Think, for example, of listening to a well-loved song or catchy riff that’s likely gotten stuck in your head countless times before. How can you not grant it a little bit of brain space while you’re trying to memorize terms or draft an essay? It wouldn’t be surprising to find ourselves singing along when our minds wander from the more difficult task in front of us. In this sense, music functions as a distraction, even if ritualistically it’s what signals to a person that it’s time to focus, as is often the case for students who listen as they study.

It’s not just music, though, that thwarts our concentration. Another study published in the British Journal of Psychology states that even hearing other people ask questions or chat about their weekends is detrimental to our ability to focus. While this research claims that all noise is essentially a distraction, it’s the language and our brain’s incessant desire to process the speech we hear that does the most harm, even though what exactly is being said has little effect. “The results show that both speech and office noise can disrupt performance on memory for prose and mental arithmetic tasks, and the effect is independent of the meaning of the irrelevant speech,” researchers say. In other words, it’s the presence of chitter-chatter itself that’s the problem, not the content.

That’s not to say that other noise is inconsequential either, though. Studies consistently show that folks near flight paths or within high-traffic areas are likely to experience impaired reading comprehension. Combine that with our addictions to technology—in addition to the rhythmic rotation of alerts that seem to be emanating from your coworker’s desk—and escaping the sounds of everyday life for even the briefest period of concentration and focus seems incredibly difficult.

I did attempt to listen to whatever my Spotify algorithm generated while I worked for a short period, but because it’s not my go-to, my experiment ended in accidentally typing lyrics and spending far too long on simple tasks like confirming a meeting time. I function at a higher level with silence or better yet, the fuzzy whirring of white noise. Opposite of the color, this blandly named phenomenon is defined as “a type of noise that is produced by combining sounds of all different frequencies together.” In essence, white noise is basically every conceivable tone audible to the human ear compiled into a single file. Contrary to music, it’s known for its ability to improve our cognitive function, especially when it’s compared to the distracting background sounds mentioned earlier. But it still isn’t a cure-all to our inattentive woes, either: Another study finds that its efficacy is entirely dependent on timing and the task at hand.

Although lyrics might not be the ideal aid for deep work, or “the ability to focus without distraction on a cognitively demanding task,” a curated soundscape (i.e. the chosen playlist, podcast, or a steady splatter of raindrops) is known for improving our concentration and comprehension. Listening to songs you recognize and enjoy improves your mood and reduces stress because they’re predictable and already associated with good feelings. Well-worn tracks also drown out our environments and signal to our brains that it’s time to focus, even if it’s not on the rhythms pulsing through our headphones.

As with anything else, we interact with sounds differently. Introverts, for example, are more likely to find reading and other tasks arduous with heavy background noise. The problem is amplified for people with sensory process disorders when ubiquitous auditory intrusions like screeching breaks during a commute, notifications pinging a phone, and the inevitable sounds of just being around other people can be too much to bear. Writer Douglas Cootey describes his experience taking exams while a student at Brigham Young:

“The room filled with sniffles and coughs, like bird calls in an aviary. The sniffles evolved into snuffles, which were eventually replaced by pencil tapping. Seemingly harmless to those with normal brains, the gentle strikes of No. 2 pencils hammered my ADHD brain like blows in a steel foundry. What I would have given for a trusty Walkman back then, with a fresh set of batteries and some favorite tunes, to neuter the noise.”

For Cootey and people who have these sensory conditions, the incessant soundscape surrounding us on a daily basis, the one that some of us only recognize is there when we’re really in tune with our environments, is disastrous for concentration. And when we consider the studies above, it’s clear that everyone’s capacity for focus would benefit from a quieter, paired-down space.

Of course, we’re closing in on the second year of a pandemic, the world is literally on fire, and concentration is an enigma. On one hand, the last few years have meant canceled family get-togethers, dinners with friends, and other outings that have significantly quieted much of our social lives. Inversely, though, there’s the anxiety, worry, and burnout that’s inherent in experiencing years of a pandemic, especially for parents, people who are immunocompromised, and essential workers. No wonder we can’t focus.

In some capacity, though, concentration, despite its slippery, ever-fleeting nature, is essential, and it’s what brings us the elusive state of “flow,” the experience of being so completely absorbed in a rewarding and engaging activity that time, our surroundings, our worries, and perhaps even the sounds of honking cars or a nearby construction site are left unnoticed. Some people describe these brief stints as “losing yourself” or “being in the zone,” moments when they’re thinking most creatively and working at a faster clip.

While productivity and innovation are nice byproducts, Richard Huskey, who studies cognitive science, points out that flow is autotelic, a description for “things that are worth doing in and of themselves. Researchers sometimes call these intrinsically rewarding experiences.” The true benefit of concentration ties back to time and satisfaction: when we are able to do it, our brains learn more quickly and function at a higher level, meaning whatever we’re working on is likely to be more successful, we’ll have more time for the activities and people we love, and most importantly, our sense of inner satisfaction skyrockets.

How can we use sound to help us concentrate then? As with every goal we have, part of the endeavor involves finding a method that works for us, in addition to practice, habit, and the ability to train ourselves to focus. There’s also safety, comfort, and joy to be found in the recognizable, and it’s part of the reason why some of us realized that we needed the sounds of a neighborhood cafe to work only when we couldn’t post up at one of its tables. My theory that I couldn’t focus with music playing or noisy upstairs neighbors is far less an inherently human trait and far more about what I personally believe is distracting.

We can easily conclude that finding and sticking with what works for us is the best solution to our inability to concentrate, but that disregards one of the main tenets of flow: challenge. It’s the difficulty itself that stimulates us and breaching that mentally taxing barrier is essential. “So long as that task’s challenge is high, and so are your skills, you should be able to achieve flow,” Huskey writes. He points to snowboarding as his gateway, for some people it’s cooking or running, and for me, writing is one of the few activities that breaks through the euphoria-inducing wall. In essence, flow exists beyond the music, beyond the sound, and it’s our privilege to find what activities immerse us so wholly that we reap its rewards. There is no perfectly curated playlist or anesthetizing noise that’s guaranteed to help us achieve that sublime state of pure concentration, unless, of course, concocting the impossibly perfect soundscape is our goal.