Like many, I could relate to his stories, his characters. Right now, though, I’ll share just the moment when I felt that John Hughes really knew me personally, understood me. (No, really.)

It was early 1987 and, like every other high school student on the planet, I had seen pretty much every John Hughes movie upon its release. Some Kind of Wonderful was about to arrive in theatres, and I planned to see that one too.

Coming home from school this particular day, I was elated to find a mysterious package addressed to me. Of course, I wasted no time: inside I found a John Hughes marketing kit — posters, buttons, “inside” info, some free music (cassettes? 45s? I can’t recall) and other movie paraphernalia. I pored over my new treasures all that evening.

The enclosed cover letter told me that I had been chosen to receive this kit because (well I don’t know what the letter really said; I was fifteen, so to me, I understood only that) I was the coolest teenager in the whole world, John Hughes knew that, and if I did a really good job making his upcoming movies successful, he’d give me a part in his next movie.

Yeah, pretty sure it was something like that.

As the evening wore on, I began to consider that all my friends probably received the same package, so I shouldn’t get too excited about it. Nevertheless, the next morning I pinned the Some Kind of Wonderful button on my backpack and went to school.

At my locker before the first bell, a friend asked me where I got the button. I, of course, was giddy that she had to ask. That day, I quickly learned that no one I knew had received this promo kit. I was truly destined to be the next Molly Ringwald. (Ok, probably more like Ally Sheedy. And not the made-over one.)

I walked on air for the next several weeks. The poster of Eric Stoltz and Mary Stuart Masterson on my wall was enough to pick me up from my deepest moments of teenage angst. My knowledge of details about a movie that was still filming (She’s Having a Baby) made me smile to myself at odd times during the day. No wonder my classmates thought me so odd.

Still, I did my best for Mr. Hughes, telling as many friends as would listen that these were the greatest movies of our time.

Years later, having seen Some Kind of Wonderful countless times, it remains my favorite John Hughes film. The recording of “This Woman’s Work” (featured in She’s Having a Baby) created in me a lifelong admiration for Kate Bush. If I really think about it, perhaps my love of marketing began the day I opened that package.

John Hughes never knocked on my door to offer me that movie role. Until yesterday, a tiny part of me held out hope that he still might.

And so, goodbye Mr. Hughes, with a belated but heartfelt thank you for the gift you sent me 22 years ago.

As in, am I sure that I’m ready to depart from the company where I’ve worked for so long? Am I sure that I want to take this big a risk? Am I sure that I’m ready to leave behind the career that I’ve built here?

More than ever, I am sure.

In the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time connecting with dear friends, old and new. The conversations often start with that familiar “are you sure” discussion, and, somewhere in the middle, they fundamentally change. The concerned looks change to excitement. The worried questions change to congratulations. And the conversations end with the same, somewhat surprised, comment: “You look really happy.”

Then, this week I attended an event downtown, a presentation in the series “Conversations about the Future of Advertising.” I met amazing people there. I learned a lot. And – surprise – I talked a lot too. All the random thoughts about where I want to take my career came together as I talked with others.

For me, the conversations were enlightening, energizing, and a whole bunch of other e-words that befit a dialogue about social media and online advertising. I absolutely couldn’t get enough of it — both the possibilities and the challenges that lie ahead in this space.

I left knowing, without a doubt, that this is my future. This is where I belong. This is where I will forge my own future.

You’ll hear more from me soon, as I assemble my thoughts into a coherent strategy.

Until then, just know that I’m content. Excited even.

And yes, I am sure.