From a Buddhist point of view, nothing of value is created without concentration and mindfulness. If one devotes oneself completely to one thing, then an energy beam is directed at this activity. Informal concentration makes an action come alive. Everything changes when we are concentrated. For one thing, we are free because we do not become victims of routines. On the other hand, the activity itself changes, it deepens; it shows what we can achieve. Concentrated action is the opposite of multitasking: we work on one thing for a certain amount of time without interruption. We become one with this activity. We make fewer mistakes, are faster, better, and use less energy. But to concentrate is often difficult; our brain seems to work against us. We are full of concentration killers.  

The human mind is restless. We can hardly control which thoughts go through our mind; they come unasked. We seldom hold our attention in the present moment, but the thoughts jump between past and future. While we are lying in bed, we think about the next day; as we drive to work we think about the tasks at hand; in the afternoon, we think about the evening, and in the evening, about the next day at work. This is not a weakness of character, but the nature of untrained thought processes. If we leave ourselves to rumination, our brain tends to turn to worry, fear and pessimism. The dark thoughts are then followed by destructive feelings. We remain trapped in prejudiced beliefs that distort our view of the world. The brain is a worry machine and it loves accusation games.

For creativity, a positive mind is beneficial; destructive emotions inhibit us. Only a positive mind is free from aggression and sees clearly. The psychologist Daniel Goleman distinguishes two types of attention. First, perception must make a sensory choice: You look at the letters and read this text, but you are not focusing on the white space of the magazine page. In a café, our brain levels down the soundscape for us to understand our conversation partner. The second form of attention involves the emotional dimension. Impulses that are connected to feelings are particularly distracting. If you look at a photo showing people, you can perceive it in a concentrated way, but if you suddenly discover yourself, your perception is captured. It is similar to when you suddenly hear your name in the background noise of a bar. To concentrate, therefore, it is necessary to be able to inhibit distracting emotional impulses. “The biggest challenge, even for highly concentrated people, comes (...) from the emotional ups and downs of our lives,” Goleman writes. This is far more influential and disturbing than our colleagues on the phone in the background. You can level them down, ask them to be quiet, or banish them with noise-canceling headphones. The inner distractions are more vehement than the outer ones, so the inner noise cancelling is more challenging. We can mute the smartphone, but not our minds.

So concentration by no means only concerns the activity we are currently carrying out. It involves not only the precision of attention but also the deeper contexts of meaning. Even when everything around us is quiet, when external conditions are ideal, a parrot begins to babble inside us. In order to banish the inner voices, to clear up the “inner directive forces,” as Joseph Beuys said, more needs to be done. The preparation for our concentration then concerns our whole life.