I've got a really amazing ability to forget and disregard

Host: The ocean stretched endless under a bruised twilight sky, rolling in slow and hypnotic rhythm — a mirror of the mind at rest. The sound of waves was soft but powerful, the kind that swallowed every thought before it could fully form. The salt wind carried the faint scent of driftwood and distance.

On the weathered deck of a beach shack, Jack sat barefoot, his grey eyes fixed on the horizon — that trembling line where sky met water, thought met silence. A half-empty beer bottle rested beside him, beads of condensation glistening in the fading light.

Jeeny stood near the open doorway, a blanket draped over her shoulders, her brown eyes reflecting both the sea and the man — as if she could read the currents in both. The air was cool and damp, filled with that rare kind of stillness that only comes after the world’s noise dissolves.

Jeeny: smiling softly “Garrett McNamara once said, ‘I’ve got a really amazing ability to forget and disregard information that comes in my brain.’”

Jack: smirking faintly “That’s the most peaceful superpower I’ve ever heard.”

Jeeny: softly “It is, isn’t it? We all talk about remembering, but maybe the real art is in forgetting.”

Jack: quietly, gazing at the horizon “Especially when you’ve lived a life like his. Surfing waves that could kill you — I guess you learn to let thoughts go, or they’ll drown you before the ocean does.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Yes. Forgetting becomes a kind of survival. You can’t ride the next wave if you’re still haunted by the last one.”

Host: The sea roared softly, as though agreeing. Foam curled like memory dissolving on the sand, and the faint cry of a gull echoed overhead — lonely, free.

Jack: after a pause “You know, I envy that. The ability to disregard the useless. Most of us carry thoughts like luggage we never unpack.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “You don’t unpack them — you just keep adding more.”

Jack: softly “Until your mind becomes a crowded attic. Dusty with things that no longer matter.”

Jeeny: quietly “That’s why forgetting is a discipline, not a defect.”

Jack: turning to her, intrigued “Discipline?”

Jeeny: gently “Yes. Anyone can remember. But it takes strength to let go deliberately. To say, ‘This thought doesn’t serve me,’ and release it.”

Jack: smiling faintly “So he’s not just forgetful — he’s free.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly. Freedom starts where attachment ends.”

Host: The wind picked up, fluttering the blanket around Jeeny’s shoulders. The waves grew louder, deeper, echoing like a memory dissolving into movement.

Jack: quietly “I think about surfers like McNamara — people who ride chaos and call it balance. You can’t do that if your head’s full of noise.”

Jeeny: smiling “Because the ocean doesn’t wait for your mind to settle. It teaches you presence the hard way.”

Jack: softly “That’s it. When you’re standing on a board, staring down a 70-foot wave, the brain doesn’t have time for trivia.”

Jeeny: smiling gently “Or regret. Or ego. Just instinct — and surrender.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “That’s the amazing part. Forgetting, for him, isn’t an accident. It’s alignment.”

Jeeny: nodding softly “Exactly. It’s mindfulness by erasure.”

Host: The camera of imagination panned out over the darkening sea — the surface glittering faintly as if holding the light of forgotten suns.

Jack: after a moment “You know, Jeeny, maybe forgetting is underrated. We always say, ‘Never forget,’ as if remembering is inherently noble. But some things deserve release.”

Jeeny: quietly “Yes. Like failure. Or fear. Or yesterday’s noise.”

Jack: softly “Or the names of people who left.”

Jeeny: gently “And the things we said to ourselves when we didn’t know better.”

Jack: smiling faintly “That might be the hardest to forget.”

Jeeny: quietly “It’s easier on a surfboard. Harder in a mirror.”

Host: The waves rolled in, steady as breath. The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving only streaks of violet and silver across the horizon. The sea and sky began to look indistinguishable — like consciousness folding into calm.

Jeeny: after a silence “You know, I think Garrett’s talking about more than memory. He’s talking about choosing peace. Selective focus. Knowing which thoughts are worth keeping.”

Jack: nodding slowly “A mental tide.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Exactly. Letting in what nourishes. Washing away what poisons.”

Jack: quietly “It’s funny, isn’t it? We admire people who remember everything, but we never praise the ones who remember only what matters.”

Jeeny: gently “Because forgetting looks lazy to the busy-minded. But it’s actually wisdom disguised as simplicity.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And wisdom, in the end, is knowing what not to think about.”

Host: The sky darkened fully now, stars emerging one by one — quiet witnesses to the conversation below. The sound of the ocean grew deeper, like a heartbeat slowed by peace.

Jeeny: softly, wrapping the blanket tighter “You know, Jack… when I was younger, I thought letting go meant losing something. Now I think it means making room.”

Jack: quietly, nodding “Room for what?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Stillness. Perspective. Joy, maybe.”

Jack: after a pause “Or courage. You can’t move forward if you’re anchored to every thought that’s ever hurt you.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s what surfers know. You don’t fight the wave. You ride it.”

Jack: quietly “And then you forget it. Because another one’s already forming.”

Host: The camera drifted closer — the faint light of the moon now glinting off Jack’s eyes as he stared at the horizon, his face calm, no longer haunted by reflection, only rhythm.

Host: And in that space between silence and surf, Garrett McNamara’s words took on their full, salt-soaked wisdom:

That forgetting is not weakness — it’s clarity.
That the amazing gift of the mind is not just its memory,
but its mercy — the ability to let go.

That not every thought deserves a place in the heart.
That wisdom is not accumulation,
but selection.

That to disregard noise is to hear truth.
To forget pain is to feel life again.
And that freedom, real freedom,
is not remembering everything —
but remembering only what matters.

Jack: softly, eyes still on the sea “You know, Jeeny… maybe forgetting isn’t the loss of knowledge. Maybe it’s the recovery of peace.”

Jeeny: smiling gently “Yes. Because the mind, like the ocean, doesn’t need to hold every wave. Just the ones that teach it how to breathe.”

Host: The camera pulled back, revealing the vast horizon — moonlight stretching across the endless water like a memory erased, leaving behind nothing but calm.

And as the waves rolled in,
and the world grew quieter than thought,
one truth shimmered softly between sea and sky:

that letting go —
the art of forgetting —
is not escape.

It is balance.
It is freedom.
It is the soul’s way
of remembering
how to be
amazing.