I'm an OG. I was an OG when I was 16. I was an OG when I made

Hear now the bold words of Playboi Carti, a youth who chose his own path and sealed it with courage: “I’m an OG. I was an OG when I was 16. I was an OG when I made the decision I don’t want to go to school anymore and start skipping to make music.” At first, these words may sound like boast or bravado, but beneath them burns a deeper fire. For in calling himself an OG—an “Original Gangsta,” a phrase rooted in respect, in authenticity, in leadership—he declares that his worth was not bestowed by others, but forged by the strength of his choices.

To be an OG is not merely to be feared or admired, but to walk as one who claims responsibility for their life. Carti speaks of being 16, yet already carrying himself as one seasoned in spirit. His choice to leave the path set before him—the school, the tradition, the expectation—and instead carve out a future in music, was an act of rebellion, yes, but also of creation. He reveals that greatness often begins with risk, with the decision to walk away from safety into the wilderness of one’s own calling.

This echoes the journeys of old. Consider Siddhartha, who left his palace, forsaking privilege and comfort, to seek enlightenment beneath the Bodhi tree. The world called him foolish, perhaps reckless, for abandoning the wealth and education prepared for him. But in daring to leave, he discovered a deeper truth, and the world remembers him not as prince but as Buddha. So too, Carti in his own way declares that to be an OG is to step away from conformity and step into the authenticity of self.

We see also the shadow of this wisdom in the life of Frederick Douglass. As a boy, he risked everything to teach himself to read, even when laws and masters forbade it. To claim that power, to make that decision against the tide of his time, was the work of an OG spirit. It was not age nor title that made him such, but the courage to break chains and walk into destiny. Douglass’s greatness was born in the risk of disobedience, just as Carti’s path was born in his refusal to bow to expectations that did not align with his fire.

The lesson here is fierce and burning: the title of OG is not given by the crowd, but seized by the choices you make when the world presses you to conform. It is the courage to say, “I will follow my vision, though I walk alone.” Yet this power carries both glory and danger. For not every act of rebellion leads to greatness; some lead to ruin. The mark of a true OG is not only rebellion, but discipline, purpose, and the strength to endure the consequences of one’s path.

What, then, must you do? Look within and ask: what decision will define me? Am I living by the script handed to me, or am I daring to write my own? Do not flee responsibility—embrace it. If you choose your own road, walk it with conviction, with labor, with perseverance. For the world will not call you authentic if you waver; it will call you authentic if you endure. To be an OG is not simply to defy, but to build something lasting from your defiance.

Thus, let Playboi Carti’s words stand as a challenge across time: be an OG not in age or appearance, but in spirit and decision. Be willing to risk for your vision, willing to step away from comfort, willing to embrace the responsibility of carving your own fate. For the title of OG belongs to the one who dares to live as themselves, fully and without apology.