Closed Mouths Don’t Get Fed

There’s a particular kind of inspiration that comes along with a clean slate.

A Monday morning. January 1st. The day after anI’m sorry, an it’s okay, and a silent hug. There’s nothing quite like the weight of time past being lifted off your shoulders, curling into the air as you smell the aroma of a new opportunity to start again.

Recently, I’ve noticed a narrative floating around about the obsoleteness of New Year’s Resolutions — something about how, as we age, the need to change our lives becomes less and less of a concern because, now, we are content. Well, maybe I lack the maturity to give up on the idea altogether, because January 1st is still one of my favorite days of the year. It’s a date at the top of one page in each journal I own, even if it’s the first page itself.

“Dear Diary, this is the year I do everything I want to do and become everything I want to be. No holding back, no backing down. My eyes and ears and heart are open. Closed mouths don’t get fed.”

At the top of my resolutions list for many years now has been to shift my priorities towards hobbies and identities I once prized. There are only twenty-four hours in a day, and one day I woke up to find myself wasting them on tasks that seem important but ultimately are but a faint memory of a life measured by benchmarks I will barely remember.

This year, my resolutions are concrete and important, but also quiet and lived-in. They are about consistency and finding who I am apart from who others would find impressive or alluring. They are accepting and capitalizing on the great parts of myself, rather than critiquing and vowing to change the imperfect ones. They are opening my mouth not for an audience, but simply because I am hungry to document my thoughts and opinions aside from who is reading.

As I navigate these goals, I must create a sense of sustainability. After all, consistency is the only way to see change. I’ve learned that through perfecting my study habits and workout split and makeup routine — all things I tried so hard to cultivate for others. Now, it’s time to show up for myself. Here, for Chocolate and Politics.

When I began this blog back in 2020, I never imagined I would still be writing for it today. Well, am I? Perhaps not. But I am working towards it, and for that, my younger self would be proud. I am taking it slowly, not biting off more than I can chew, but reminding everyone reading that their passions should never be pushed to the side for things deemed more important. My writer’s voice, untouched by Chat GPT editing for grammar and flow is just as, if not more, important than all the other achievements heading my way this year.

In 2026, Chocolate and Politics will be revived. It will look a little different — with more creative writing, and poetry, and short stories. It will lean on other platforms, like social media, and content styles like videos and photo essays. It will find motifs that emerge as staples, like political commentary or themes of the month. But most importantly, with each post, it will build my individuality as a creative. Writing is not a fad for me; it is a way to feed the confused, critical, curious voice living deep within, mouth open wide for the next bite.

“You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call ‘failure’ is not the falling down, but the staying down.” -Mary Pickford

Happy New Year 🙂