For J.R. Smith, wealth arrived fast, loudly, and without warning. The former NBA guard spent much of his sixteen-season professional career reveling in all the perks that come with being one of the league’s most electrifying players—luxury cars, big nights out, and the limitless promise of stardom. But as time passed and distance grew from the court, Smith’s perspective shifted. What once felt like reward now looks like a cautionary tale, and he has begun to use his own experiences to warn younger athletes about stepping into lifestyles they may not be prepared to manage.

Smith’s reflections have become a central part of his post-NBA evolution. After earning roughly US$90 million over his career, he admitted in a 2022 interview on I Am Athlete that he often poured money into moments that offered no long-term value. What hits him most now is how easily that same money could have been applied to doing meaningful good in his community.

“I could have fed my whole community 10 times over with the money I was just [paying in fines for being] late on the bus,” he said, recalling how casually he once treated tens of thousands of dollars.The moment that drew the most attention came when he compared his own spending to what it could have done for others: “We got the money. We don’t have the mindset. We’d rather go throw $60,000 in a club, in a strip club. Go throw $60,000 than go feed 2,500 people in the hood.”

But the candor in his remarks was not about shaming players who live large; rather, it was about urging them to understand the long-term power of their earnings. In the same interview, he shifted from personal reflection to a message of collective responsibility for elite athletes. Smith recalled the 2020 NBA bubble, when players were discussing what demands they should make of owners in the wake of the killing of George Floyd. He challenged the premise: “Everyone is like ‘what we gonna ask the owners for?’ Stop asking them for s—t! What are we asking them for?”

Sitting among some of the league’s highest‐paid players, he pressed a question: “I got Paul George sitting right here, I got DeMar DeRozan sitting right here, I got Russell Westbrook sitting right here… You make $200 (million), you make $200 (million), you make $175 (million), you make $150 (million), you make $180 (million). Why don’t y’all have your own gym? Why we gotta go to UCLA to work out every time? Y’all come from the exact same community. You want to inspire kids that look like you? All it takes is five of them.” His critique was simple: athletes often underestimate the collective power they already possess—and ownership isn’t the only path to effect change. Shared investment in one another, his message implied, is perhaps a more powerful lever.

Smith’s life after basketball reflects that same emerging spirit of reinvention. He enrolled at North Carolina A&T State University, joined the golf team, and entered the Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) marketplace with Excel Sports Management representing him. Even with an estimated net worth in the tens of millions (approximately US$35 million by some estimates), he embraced the chance to build a new lane—proving that a second career can have as much purpose as the first.

His personal life, too, has transformed alongside his professional shift. Smith and actress Candice Patton recently welcomed a new baby, sharing glimpses of their son online. While many celebrated the new chapter, some questioned the timing given his complicated separation from his wife, Shirley “Jewel” Smith. But through it all, the central message driving his reflections remains clear: the impact of $60,000 lasts far longer when spent on people instead of fleeting nights. By revisiting his own choices, Smith is urging today’s athletes to think beyond the moment and recognize the legacy their money can build.