That's what keeps me up at three in the morning: Who's looking

“That’s what keeps me up at three in the morning: Who’s looking at reviews of Cabin Boy right now?” So said Chris Elliott, the comedian and actor whose career was marked by both daring originality and merciless criticism. At first, the words appear light, a jest wrapped in humor. But beneath them lies a truth known to all who dare to create: that the judgment of others, especially the harsh weight of failure, lingers long after the curtain has fallen. The world may move on, but the creator lies awake in the silence of the night, haunted by the echo of reviews, by the shadow of mockery, by the fear of being remembered only for a misstep.

The origin of this quote is found in Elliott’s reflections on Cabin Boy, a 1994 comedy film that was ridiculed by critics and ignored by audiences. For many, it became a symbol of failure, a blemish on his name. And yet, the very fact that Elliott could later joke about it reveals a deeper wisdom. For when he confesses that this thought keeps him awake at three in the morning, he admits not only the persistence of doubt but also the resilience required to endure it. The true artist, though pierced by criticism, continues onward, bearing scars yet unbroken in spirit.

This truth is not Elliott’s alone. Throughout history, creators have lain awake at night, tormented by their failures. Vincent van Gogh sold but a single painting in his lifetime, mocked and dismissed by his contemporaries. How often, we wonder, did he lie awake in the dark hours, questioning whether his work would ever matter? And yet, today his canvases hang in the greatest galleries of the world, and his name is revered. Here lies the irony: that what feels like shame in one age may become glory in another. Failure is never the final word.

The ancients, too, bore witness to this struggle. Socrates himself was condemned by the people of Athens, called corruptor of youth, mocked by his enemies. Yet the philosopher, standing before his accusers, declared that he feared not the judgment of men but only the loss of truth. His name, once disgraced, became immortal. So too with Elliott’s jest—behind the laughter is the reminder that the sting of mockery is temporary, but the courage to create is eternal.

What lesson must we take from this? It is that we cannot let the fear of criticism or the memory of failure paralyze us. Reviews, opinions, ridicule—these are fleeting. What endures is the act of creation, the boldness to step into the arena, the willingness to risk. If you lie awake at night thinking of your failures, remember: you are not alone. Every soul that dared to build, to write, to paint, to speak has faced the same torment. What matters is not that you were judged, but that you dared.

Practical wisdom follows. When the weight of failure keeps you awake at three in the morning, do not curse the darkness. Instead, remind yourself that even the greatest walked through ridicule. Write down your fears, laugh at them if you can, and then rise the next day and continue your work. Share your story with others, for laughter, like Elliott’s, can turn sorrow into strength. And when you look upon the failures of others, offer not cruelty but compassion, for they too are awake at night, wrestling with their shadows.

Thus, remember Chris Elliott’s words: “Who’s looking at reviews of Cabin Boy right now?” They are more than a comedian’s self-mockery—they are a mirror to the artist’s eternal struggle. They remind us that failure is universal, but so too is resilience. Let not the memory of your missteps keep you in the night, but let them become the forge from which your strength is drawn. For the true measure of a life is not the reviews left behind, but the courage to keep creating in spite of them.