My mom wanted me to be like... a doctor, a lawyer. I was with it

Hear the words of Lil Mosey, spoken in the language of youth but carrying the weight of eternal truth: “My mom wanted me to be like... a doctor, a lawyer. I was with it, being like a lawyer or something, because you make hella money and I wasn’t tryna be broke.” At first glance, these words may seem simple, the musings of a son caught between duty and desire. Yet within them lies the timeless struggle between expectation and destiny, between the safe path and the path of the heart.

From the beginning of time, parents have sought for their children a life of security. They dream of the doctor who heals, the lawyer who commands respect, the craftsman who steadies the family name. These roles are not chosen lightly, for they promise a shield against poverty, a way to guard the next generation from hunger and humiliation. In Lil Mosey’s words, we hear the echo of countless voices urging the young to seek money first, lest they be crushed beneath the weight of being broke.

Yet, as the ancients knew, the coin and the crown are but fleeting glories. Consider the tale of Siddhartha, who was born to wealth beyond measure, sheltered by his father from all forms of suffering. His destiny, as chosen by his family, was to rule in splendor as a prince. But within him stirred a different calling. He cast aside the riches of palaces and the safety of thrones to walk barefoot in search of truth, and in doing so, he became the Buddha, teacher to millions across the ages. From this we learn: what the world calls security may not be the true wealth of the soul.

And yet, let us not despise the mother’s wish. For her plea springs from love, from the memory of her own struggles, from nights perhaps spent fearing the cruelty of poverty. The desire for her child to be a doctor or lawyer was not born of vanity but of care, of a longing to see her son rise higher than herself. The tension, therefore, is not between good and evil, but between two goods: the safety of convention, and the freedom of self-chosen purpose.

Lil Mosey speaks also of the lure of money, of the fear of being broke. This fear is not baseless. Poverty has crushed kingdoms and driven men to despair. The Romans once said that hunger conquers more surely than the sword, for a starving man cannot fight. Thus, the young artist’s desire to seek wealth was not mere greed, but a survival instinct—an acknowledgement that in this world, to lack resources is to lack power. The difference lies in whether one pursues money as the sole end, or as the means to carry a greater vision.

The lesson, then, is this: one must honor the wisdom of elders, yet also hear the whisper of one’s own spirit. To walk blindly in the path laid by others may bring comfort, but not always fulfillment. To walk only by desire may bring ruin, unless guided by discipline. True greatness lies in the harmony of the two—respecting the wisdom of the past while forging the path of the future with courage.

So, what shall the listener do? Seek first to understand the roots of your family’s expectations—see the love hidden within their demands. Then look inward and ask: what fire burns within me? What labor, though difficult, makes me feel alive? If wealth comes, let it serve the dream, not enslave it. And if you fear being broke, let that fear sharpen your discipline, not drown your spirit. In this way, you walk the middle path: honoring love, yet honoring also your own destiny.

Thus the teaching endures: do not despise the voices of those who raised you, for they speak from the soil of love. But do not silence the voice of your own heart, for it speaks from the seed of destiny. The one provides roots, the other wings. Together, they allow the soul not only to survive, but to soar.