I don't believe that heavy strings make it all that much

"I don't believe that heavy strings make it all that much bigger-sounding. If anything, it can mess up your fingers, and you can get tendonitis, which is not cool." These words of Steve Lukather are a reflection of the wisdom that comes not just from experience, but from a deeper understanding of the balance between strength and care. Lukather, a master guitarist, speaks not merely of technical skill, but of the dangers of pushing oneself too hard or relying on external factors to achieve a desired result. His message speaks to the broader lesson of moderation—that true strength does not always come from force, but from the balance and control one exerts over their own instrument, their own craft, and even their own body.

In the ancient world, the Greek philosophers were deeply concerned with the idea of balance. Aristotle, in his pursuit of the golden mean, argued that virtue lies in the middle ground between extremes. Excess in any form—whether in food, action, or desire—leads to harm, while a balanced approach leads to fulfillment and harmony. Lukather’s statement aligns with this ancient wisdom, where the overuse of heavy strings, like any excess, can harm rather than enhance. His insight teaches us that more is not always better, and that the true essence of mastery lies in restraint and precision.

Take the example of Hercules, the ancient hero known for his immense strength. Though he was gifted with great physical power, his twelve labors were often more about cleverness and balance than brute force. His ability to solve problems required not just strength, but the wisdom to know when to push and when to hold back. In the same way, Lukather’s advice underscores the importance of caring for the instrument—in this case, the fingers—so that the player can sustain their craft over time. True mastery is not just about force, but about endurance and sustainability.

In the context of music, this idea is reflected in the journeys of great musicians throughout history. Ludwig van Beethoven, for example, did not rely on overwhelming force to compose his symphonies. His genius lay in his ability to control the nuances of sound, using the full range of the orchestra to evoke emotion and convey complex ideas. Beethoven’s struggles with deafness did not hinder his creativity; in fact, it may have helped him fine-tune his ear for more subtle and intricate sounds. His work demonstrates that it is not the size or volume that makes music powerful, but the delicate balance of harmony and contrast. Lukather's focus on avoiding tendonitis speaks to this same delicacy—the need for balance between strength and care.

There is a deeper lesson here about the human body as an instrument itself, one that requires not just effort but respect. Just as we care for our guitars, we must also care for our bodies, understanding the limitations of both. The ancients revered the body as a vessel, one that must be treated with care and respect in order to perform its highest function. The Romans, for instance, recognized the importance of exercise and rest in maintaining physical health and the ability to engage in battle or service. Lukather’s words remind us that pushing beyond our limits, whether physically or creatively, can lead to injury, which ultimately diminishes our ability to continue our work.

The lesson is not just about avoiding tendonitis or pain but about creating sustainable practices for our craft and health. We should focus on precision, not just power, and nurture the talents we possess so that they may serve us for a lifetime. Just as Lukather advises restraint with heavy strings, we must also exercise restraint in our own lives, balancing effort with recovery, and sacrifice with care. In this way, we can ensure that our skills and strengths will not only last but will continue to grow over time.

Finally, the practical lesson we can take from this is to listen to our bodies and our instruments. Whether in music, work, or any craft, the path to mastery is not about pushing harder, but about refining technique and maintaining balance. Whether you are learning an instrument, a trade, or striving toward personal growth, take the time to care for yourself—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Moderation is the key to sustained success, and by balancing effort with self-care, we can reach the full potential of our talents and continue to grow without injury or burnout. Like Lukather, we must remember that true power comes from control, restraint, and a deep understanding of our own limitations.