Speaker #0You gave your body, your heart, your guts to your career. You gave it your all, and one day, it stops. And even if you were mentally prepared, even if you saw it coming, that moment knocks you over. Today, we're talking about that pivotal point, the end of a career. That moment when there are no more games, but your heart still beats. Welcome to Pirate's Change. Welcome to this very first episode of Pure Exchange. I'm Jason, former professional basketball player now in transition, exploring, rebuilding and sharing. This podcast isn't just a mic and a voice. It's a space where we put words to what many go through in silence. And what better place to start than with the end? The end of a career. Because people always tell you what to do during your career, but rarely what happens after. And when it all stops, you're just staring at a blank page with emotions you didn't expect. Anger. Emptiness. Fear. Sadness. Sadness. And one quiet question repeating, what now? In this episode, we're going to unpack that moment. Not to wallow, but to understand, process, and transform it. Because no, this is not the end of your story. It's the start of something else. And if anything in this episode resonates with you, leave a comment on the video version of the podcast on YouTube or Spotify. I would love to hear your feedback. It'll guide the future episodes. You know, people often think the end of a career is just like the end of a contract. You move on. They congratulate you, wish you well, and that's that. But in reality, it's rarely that simple. Because what they don't tell you is, it's not just your job that ends. It's an entire part of your life that shifts. Your daily routine, your rhythm, your body, your status. Everything changes. and often without you having had the time to really prepare you hear about preparing for what's next about a successful transition but what no one explains is that even with a clear plan the emotional shock hits hard because you spent years in a world that revolved around you your schedule your short mid and long-term goals your status in the team your place in the hierarchy your relationship with your body the public Performance. And suddenly, that world disappears. It's like stepping out of a parallel universe into a world that just keeps spinning without you. In sports psychology, they talk about a transition crisis, a time when identity, structure, and sense of purpose are all thrown into question. Taylor and Algevy showed that the more sudden or forced the end of a career is, the greater the risk of psychological distress. Even when it's voluntary, the lack of social recognition and absence of clear new roles can create a low-grade stress that turns into anxiety, fatigue, or even depression. You might have caught yourself thinking, I feel like I've disappeared. I don't know how to introduce myself anymore. I don't have a reason to get out of bed. But no one talks about this. Because there's a taboo. You are privileged. You had your shot. Be grateful. So you bottle it up. You put on a smile. You move on. But inside, you're mourning something real. It's an invisible loss. In pro sports, your role is clear. You're a player, a captain, a leader, a role model. And that label gives structure to your social identity. But once the curtain falls, no one tells you what your new role is. You go from public figure. to just another guy. And if you haven't worked on your identity outside of sports, the shock can be existential. Who am I if there are no games on Saturday night? It's a real question. And you have every right to ask it. What you're going through isn't a glitch. It's not a personal failure. It's a normal phase of a deep transition. The problem is we weren't prepared for this. We were trained to be strong, resilient, high-performing. Not to embrace the end. Not to rebuild outside the frame. And yet, that's where the real freedom begins. i played my last pro game knowingly i knew it was the last i made that decision and yet when the final buzzer sounded something shattered inside me it was brutal i never imagined such a simple sound could hurt that much i stood there on the court even though i knew it was over nothing had prepared me for how it would feel the emptiness didn't hit all at once it just crept in slowly a feeling of ending but not a graceful one a quiet fracture and yet it was my choice not an injury not a coach me but that day i felt like i lost a part of myself the player the competitor the athlete i had been for years he stayed on that court and i walked away alone that day i understood it's not the last game that hurts It's everything it takes with it. When your career ends, there's no press conference for what you're feeling. No dramatic slow motion with epic music. There's just silence. And that silence hides a real emotional tsunami. Something we all experience differently, but struggle to name. The psychological impact is real, but you hide it because we were taught to tough it out, to take the hits, to handle it. But now, there's just nothing to handle because you don't even know what you're feeling. And yet, what you're living is a real emotional storm. 1. Anger. Anger at the timing, at the system, at your body maybe for not holding up. at management for not renewing your contract or at yourself why didn't i plan better why didn't i enjoy it more why do i feel like this when i was lucky anger can be quiet or explosive but if you ignore it it eats away underneath two fear the one that hits at night the one that twists your gut when someone asks so what do you do now fear of the unknown Fear you'll never feel that alive again. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of becoming ordinary. In The Transition Coach, Richard Haskane puts it perfectly. An identity forged in exception makes the return to normality deeply unsettling. And that's exactly it. You're coming from a world apart. And you're afraid you won't know how to live in the real world. Sadness. we never talk about it but it's there sadness from saying good-bye to the time when you felt truly alive sadness from leaving behind unforgettable moments rituals locker rooms looks exchanged things no one understands except those who've lived them you get emotional hearing a ball bounce or just passing by a stadium and you don't dare say it because it's not professional but let me tell you something you have the right to grieve the end of something beautiful four isolation this might be the most dangerous of all mentally and emotionally. From the outside, everyone thinks you've moved on. You go out, you post on socials, you smile, but inside you feel misunderstood, like no one speaks your language anymore. So you withdraw. You think you'll handle it alone. Isolation eats away at you. Little by little, it dims your light. Many former athletes compensate without realizing it. They dive into new projects without real meaning, just to fill the void. They seek out risky behavior to replicate emotional highs. Or they shut down, running on autopilot. All of these are normal responses to an untreated void. So what can you do? Well, first, acknowledge. Acknowledge that what you're feeling is valid. You don't have to hit rock bottom to have the right to talk. and the more you name what you're going through the more you take back control one day someone asked me a simple question so what do you do now seems heartless right but that day it froze me i was ready to answer like always basketball player but no it was over and i felt the emptiness a block inside I couldn't say what I really wanted because deep down, I didn't feel legitimate, not ready to say what I wanted to become. So I said, I'm still figuring it out, just exploring. But it wasn't true. I knew exactly what I wanted. I was just. scared scared of being judged misunderstood and in that moment i felt completely alone even surrounded even in a crowd because when you've had the chance to live your passion like i did with basketball people sometimes hold it against you like it was too easy too perfect so when you stop they expect your new life to be harder like welcome to the real world now but what's hard isn't the new life it's the transition it's rebuilding when you no longer have a jersey no more role no more status and you're not allowed to feel down you're expected to stay positive smile say you're fine even when you just want to scream so you compensate you stay busy you overperform your transition just to avoid being alone along with your thoughts along with that one question that keeps coming back so what do you do now you know In the pain of the end, there's something we rarely see right away. This moment. It shows you things about yourself. Things you may never look at directly because you didn't have the time, the space, or the need. But when everything stops, what you kept buried for those years resurfaces. During your career, you were a role. The player, the captain, the warrior, the technician, whatever. But now that role is gone and the human behind the role emerges. And that's where things get interesting, because this crisis forces you to ask the real questions. Who am I when I'm no longer performing? What do I want to pass on beyond a score or a win? What truly makes me come alive? And those questions, they're not just some trendy self-help talk. They're keys to becoming truly free. That space you thought was empty might actually be space you now get to feel differently. You go from being controlled by the rhythm of the pro sports to having the opportunity to choose. And here, a quote from Carl Jung hits home. It is not by looking at the light that one becomes luminous, but by plunging into its darkness. You get what that means? That... What scares you today might be what unlocks you tomorrow. So what does this time bring to the surface? Your relationship with recognition. You might realize you were dependent on how others saw you. That your self-worth was tied to the crowd, to the coach, to the ranking. Your need for control. In sports, everything is structured. Plans, goals, feedback. But now you're facing the unpredictable and that can trigger deep insecurity. You're real drivers. When there's no jersey to wear, you start to notice what still pushes you from within. And that's when you can start rebuilding something stronger. Suddenly, you rediscover yourself. You realize you're not just a body in motion or a name on a team sheet or a social label. You're a person who's been through things, who knows how to get back up. who understands discipline, unity, and commitment. But you're also a person with the right to slow down, to hesitate, to search. You can be a parent, an entrepreneur, a mentor, a dreamer. You get it? You're not becoming less. You're becoming more. So let's ask ourselves, what if this crisis is a gift, a chance to shed a character, a chance to reconnect with what truly fuels you? a chance to build a life on your own terms not shaped by a jersey and the obstacle is the way ryan holliday writes the obstacle in the path becomes the path and that's it this crisis isn't a wall it's a doorway in disguise looking back on my own career ending i wanted to do a real audit understand what i felt what i went through and what i could do with it Thankfully, I wasn't alone. I was lucky to have people around me, real ones. One day, I had a conversation with my father. He'd also been a pro basketball player in his time. He knew what that transition felt like. He knew what it meant to turn a page without knowing what's on the next one. We talked, really talked, not just about sports or what I should do next. We talked about identity, about desire, about legacy. And that day, I realized something huge. I still had so much to give. I couldn't just erase everything I'd been, everything I'd learned. My dad helped me to see that my mindset, my experience, my drive, all of that could still serve me in the next chapter. I didn't need to become someone else. I just needed to reuse who I already was in a new way. And that lifted a weight off my shoulders. Because that's when the transition really began. Not when I quit sports, but when I understood that I still have value elsewhere. Now you know what you're going through is normal, powerful, uncomfortable, yes, but full of potential. And like I said at the start, this podcast isn't just a mic, it's a support system. So let me share with you three simple, practical human tools. no miracle cures just things you can do to-day at your own pace two or one write a break-up letter to your old life yes a real letter not a text not a mantel-note a hand-written letter write to your past self the one who wore the jersey who took the team bus who lives and breathed the game thank him tell him how you feel say what you want to keep and what you're letting go of this ritual is incredibly powerful it helps you mark the transition and take back your story tool number two map out your strength beyond the court take a notebook draw three column column number one you can write what you were good at in sports number two You can write what that reveals about you, your values, your traits, your skills. And in the third column, how that could apply in today's life. For example, I was the playmaker. I have natural leadership instincts. And what if I use that to teach or mentor? You've got a goldmine inside you. You just need to learn how to see it differently. Tool number three. reconnect to a new field. Sports gave you structure, intensity, rhythm, and you miss it. But if you want to avoid getting stuck in nostalgia, you need to plug that energy into a new field. Find a playground where you can experience challenge, growth, and meaning again. A creative project, a cause that speaks to you, a subject you've always wanted to learn, a role where you pass something on, a coach or mentor or trainer. Doesn't matter what, What matters is that you find meaning, that you get moving again. To wrap up, you might feel like everything's crumbling, like you've lost your place, your rhythm, your identity. But if you're listening to this podcast, it means you haven't given up. It means there's still that voice inside whispering, I want to rebuild. And that voice is gold. You are a player, but you're still a human emotion. You were a performer, but you can't become a creator. You were seen, but now you can go deeper. You're not fading away. You're being reborn. And trust me, what you're about to build with awareness and heart will be worth a thousand times more than anything you did under pressure. As for me, I still can't believe I spent nearly 20 years running on a court, turning my passion to a career. When I ended my basketball career, I faced a brand new challenge, deciding what to do with this second life. It took time, lots of conversations with my family, former teammates, and people I met during my career. And slowly, I discovered what truly lit me up. At first, I gave myself space, time to reflect, because I couldn't decide. Then I did an internship in a company. It was enriching, and I appreciated the structure and methods of that world. But deep down, I realized that my skills, personality, and hunger for challenge were pulling me in another direction, entrepreneurship. Today, I know I want to build something personal, to take risks, to put everything basketball taught me, perseverance, teamwork, handling pressure, into a new mission. I also discovered how much I enjoy creating content. So, I've started that too, like a continuation of the emotion and passion I felt on the court. It is a slow transition, sometimes disorienting. But every day, I feel a little more in tune with myself and this new journey. And that, honestly, is the greatest win of all. Thank you for listening to this first episode of Pure Exchange. If it spoke to you, share it with someone who might be going through the same thing. Someone who might not dare talk about it. And if you want to connect, share your story, find me on Instagram, YouTube, or even in real life. This podcast belongs to you too. And remember, this is not the end of your story. It's just the beginning of the most authentic version of yourself. See you soon. Peace.
