When the River Narrows

Sometimes a question refuses to stay inside the session.

It follows you home.
Into your notebook.
Into the quiet spaces between one thought and the next.

A couple of weeks ago, after one of my sessions, a remark stayed with me.

A beautiful one.
A vulnerable one.

“Back in London, my English felt alive... and now, back home, it feels a little weaker.”

I sat with those words longer than usual.
And as I did, one thought kept returning:

What if weaker is not the word that belongs here?

What if, sometimes...
the river simply narrows?

When a river narrows, something interesting happens:

The water has less room to dance.
Less space to stretch.
Less chance encounters with stones, branches, sunlight, and sudden turns.

It is still water…
still moving….
still finding its way.

But the environment has changed.

And maybe language works like that too.

Sometimes the river narrows because there is:

• less input
• fewer spontaneous conversations
• fewer moments of playful risk
• more time to overthink
• and sometimes... the quiet return of the inner examiner

And when that examiner clocks back in...
“I’m not flowing” can quietly begin sounding like: “I’m regressing.”

To me, those are very different rivers.

“Not flowing” is not the same as going backwards.

Sometimes language is not disappearing.
Sometimes it is simply receiving less oxygen.

And this is where I need to name the person who sparked this evening of wondering.
Darla Viacelli Cantu... this whole beauty came from your question. 🌱

And as I sat with your words, I remembered something we explored together back in Week 2 of Season Two.
A little Cabin Whisper called Trusting Continuity.

Back then, we spoke about tides. About how what retreats often returns.
About how movement does not always look like momentum.

Sometimes it looks quieter.

Sometimes slower.

Sometimes almost invisible.

And yet... still moving.

There was even a little sweet story:
A small river named Ripple. And a wise turtle named Darla. 🐢
Neither of us knew back then how beautifully that story would circle back.

Awareness, especially the kind that says:
“Rodrigo... I’m curious about my verb inflections...”

It does not sound like fading to me.
It sounds like something else. It sounds like the river noticing itself.

So perhaps during Week 8 of Season Two, the real question was not:

“Am I getting better?” or
“Am I getting my verb endings right?” (Darla's question)

Perhaps it was asking:

“What in me felt more alive in London... and how can I keep feeding that here?”

To me…
Darla’s awareness around verb inflections was not something to silence.

It is something to honour.

And that is why the opening image of this little reflection feels so meaningful to me.

Not a person standing above the river trying to control it...
but someone quietly inside the bridge itself
watching the water change shape beneath her feet.

Still listening.
Still noticing.
Still part of the movement.

My gut feeling is that
the more alive English feels in our day-to-day world,
the more naturally those little grammatical tiny beauties begin to reveal themselves…

and eventually, land more naturally,
almost as if the river had been quietly learning their rhythm all along.

Through use.
Through awareness.
Through trust in what the river already carries.


Just be yourself.
This is JBY English.