You'll have to forgive me for the latest gap between posts, but there's been a lot of thinking as of late about it.
I met a nice chap, Greg Bruce, who wrote about sports journalists in the latest issue of the North and South magazine.
In it he describes the true atmosphere of the cauldron that is the press box at a cricket Test. He describes his feelings towards it all and, through me, discovers it isn't where he wanted to be at all as a reporter.
It got me to thinking about November 2010 - a month that changed my life to this very day.
Perhaps I'm not too different to the guy who wrote the article after all.
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Sitting in the press box laughing away and reminiscing on old times,
Being able to chew the fat and shoot the breeze with some of the biggest sports stars in the country,
Going to games, soaking up the atmosphere and getting paid for it,
Living the dream job.
It wasn't the official job description but it was my perspective on becoming what I had wanted to do since I was a teenager as the days counted down before I became a sports journalist in the backend of 2010.
Almost 18 months on, I've learned a fair chunk within the industry. What once was a green, bright-eyed, bushy tailed young man fresh out of AUT University has turned into a browny tinge like unattended paddocks in the middle of autumn.
While a considerable ammount of it has been archived in the trivial side of sports (Player to score the most FIFA World Cup goals, the New Zealand women's football team's highest ranking etc), other parts have almost certainly affected what my perspective was on the job a year and a half ago.
From my experiences, friends are hard to gain in this area but when they're made they stay solid.
Having said that, I've found one of the hardest things to do in the industry is to make a lot of friends. Those who know me know this isn't like me and I myself wonder to this day why that is. Whether it's my naive nature, a shyness that's often mistaken for arrogance or ignorance, or something more is beyond me.
The journalists I have befriended - and more importantly have befriended me - are people I know and trust. These guys - and girls - are the ones I'm so grateful for.
There's an unerring feeling of judgement when around great hordes of journalists in this area. Whether it is a self-generating thought or the idea of protecting their turf, the loneliness that presents itself is ironically the opposite of what I had imagined upon accepting the job.
I guess the final thought I have when looking back over 18 months is that sports journalism has become that - a job. A labour of love yes, but oft a chore.
Going to sports matches with a computer isn't the hardest part. Sitting amongst those who chat with pals and acquaintances, who spin yarns of matches past and throw a few chuckles in often at the other's expense isn't the worst bit either.
Instead it's the loss of something I once treasured - sport.
That passion I once held dear - the sports news always got a look in throughout my teenage years - has since become a mental workplace. Turning up to Westpac Stadium to report on Australia and South Africa doing battle for a place in the Rugby World Cup semi-finals is something I should have listed in my highlights reel.
But it isn't.
Instead it's the World Cup final, where I didn't work, that brought me the most joy.
There was no mental knuckling down. There wasn't any issues about deadlines or getting pictures cut for the story. It was pure emotion and the freedom to enjoy myself at a sports match.
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Despite these seemingly long whinges about my job, I still love it.
The people you meet, the stories you hear about players who would most likely have never got where they were without a chance - they fuel my fire.
The fuel the weekly scripts of blockbuster heroics on the sports field, of the tales of the newest kid on the scene providing hope for a confidence-shot outfit.
They're the stories of warriors, of battlers, of sportsmen.
And they're my stories.
