STUPID ISOLATION
Unfriendly people care only about themselves;
they lash out at common sense.
—Proverbs 18:1 (NLT)
Whew. Aren’t you glad that’s not you?
I mean, who wants to be labeled as unfriendly? Or self-centered? Or the kind of person who flat-out rejects common sense?
Not us. Right?
No reason to read on, then.
Unless...
What if it’s talking about something more subtle in how it looks and more damaging in how it ripples? What if the real issue isn’t loud defiance but quiet withdrawal? What if this is about engaging less and calling it "self-care"? Or saying, “It just doesn’t work with my schedule,” when the truth is, it just doesn’t fit your convenience.
Maybe you are doing better than others at not isolating.
But maybe this is still worth reading in case it’s describing you better than you realized. To find out, let’s take a closer look.
"One who separates himself seeks his own desire;
He quarrels against all sound wisdom."
—Proverbs 18:1 (NASB)
That phrase “separates himself” comes from the Hebrew word parad. It’s not about needing space for sabbath rest or time alone to refuel. It’s about intentional distance. It’s the decision to pull away. To step back from community because people keep bumping into your preferences and making it harder to do what you want to do.
The verse continues, “he seeks his own desire.” That’s the word taavah. It means craving. It’s the inward pull toward what feels good or satisfying in the moment. It's self-centered, but it doesn't always look that way on the surface. Sometimes it comes off as just being "true to yourself."
So when you take those two words together—parad and taavah—you get a vivid picture. Someone who pulls away on purpose because they want what they want.
They stop listening. Stop receiving. Stop being shaped by the voices God has put around them. And Proverbs says that person doesn’t just avoid wisdom. They end up pushing against it.
The verse finishes with, “He quarrels against all sound wisdom.” In their isolation, they're resisting input from others. By pulling away from community, they end up pushing back against the very wisdom God designed to come through others. Correction feels like criticism. Counsel feels like control. So they argue with it, even if only internally.
Ouch. This is starting to sound a little too familiar now, isn’t it? Maybe not in every area of our life or faith, but in more than we'd like to admit.
AVOIDING COMMITMENTS
Sure, you’ll show up for a worship gathering on Sunday. You’ll participate in face-to-face community. Kind of. But serve? Join a Bible study? Open yourself up to real input?
Hard pass.
Yep. Isolating in an unhealthy Proverbs 18:1 way looks exactly like refusing to commit to group responsibilities. Happy to “come to church” and receive, but then find all the right reasons to avoid joining serving teams, volunteering at your school, coaching youth booster sports, or pitching in when something needs to be done. Because involvement would require a commitment.
USING SELF-CARE AS A SHIELD
You’re tired. Busy. Stretched. So when the chance to help someone comes up, or the invitation to lead, or the need to simply show up—you politely decline. “I’m in a season of rest.” “I’m focusing on my boundaries right now.” “I just need to protect my peace.”
And maybe some of that is true.
But sometimes “self-care” becomes the shield we use to keep from sacrificing anything. We protect our time, our energy, our preferences, and then call it wisdom. But real self-care isn’t a stage of life. It’s not a season we get to camp in. It’s a rhythm. A sabbath. A regular pause so that we can re-engage. When it becomes a lifestyle of avoidance, it’s not about rest anymore. It’s about retreat. And Proverbs 18:1 doesn’t call that wise—it calls it self-serving.
MOTORCYCLE WRECK
To illustrate this last application, allow me to tell you a brief, true story.
I hopped on my motorcycle and headed to work. Just a normal day. Light traffic. Sunshine.
As I was heading north on Liberty Road, I noticed a car pulled off to the right, tucked into a driveway cut-out—most likely to responsibly send a text without driving. I slowed to 35 MPH and eased over to the far left edge of the single lane to pass them safely as I approached the roundabout.
Just as I was passing the parked car, they quickly pulled out and swerved right into me.
No mirror check. No signal. No hesitation.
I swerved hard to avoid a worse collision, hit the curb in the roundabout at the exact wrong angle, and the bike went tumbling. It bounced off to the right from the impact, and I went airborne straight ahead.
I flew through the air, curled in the fetal position, and slammed into a yield sign. I wrapped around it like someone had hurled a wet rag. The full force of my body hit square at the belt line. And yes—it felt exactly like what you’re imagining.
I hit the pavement and did a quick mental checklist. Abdominal bruising? Yep. Head injury? Somehow, nope. Blood everywhere? Definitely. I was shredded with road rash. My feet were torn up, too. Why? Because I was, per usual, unwisely wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals…with no helmet.
STUPID.
But I’m not telling you this story just so you can scoff at my stupidity. It sets up the best part of what happened.
The car that pulled out and caused my fifth near-death experience in life didn’t stop. They just kept driving. They drove away from the scene at the same speed my body flew through the air and hit that yield signpost. They were so focused on the isolation inside their car, they never stopped to check on the damage they had caused outside of it.
Crazy. Right! They obviously were more concerned about their world than mine.
Wait, it gets crazier.
Then the next car came. Slowed slightly. Saw me lying there—and kept going.
Then a third car. Same story.
I was lying wrapped around the pole right as they entered the roundabout. It would be impossible for them not to see me. And, they had to drive around my crashed motorcycle.
It wasn’t until the fourth car that someone finally stopped. A guy jumped out and ran over to see if I was okay and if I needed help.
The person who crashed into me had to value avoiding their own consequences over the fact that they totaled my motorcycle and that I might be seriously hurt. As for the next two drivers who chose not to stop and help me? They didn’t cause the wreck. But they saw the wreck. They saw me. And still, they decided—not my problem.
IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM
I say this phrase often. “Not my problem” can be a healthy boundary and biblically sound. We can’t carry everything for everyone. And for those of us in ministry or leadership roles, people often expect us to carry their every problem. But there are times when stepping back is actually the most helpful thing we can do. Sometimes, someone else needs to take ownership of their responsibilities. Sometimes, stepping in would only enable dysfunction. In that context, saying “not my problem” is wise. It’s about knowing the limits of your responsibility, your capacity, and your stewardship of both.
But “not my problem” can also reveal unhealthy isolation. Sometimes it’s a sign of withdrawal—of pulling away from someone’s mess because it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or too emotionally costly. It’s easier to drive past the wreck than to stop the car and get out. And when that’s the reason, it’s not a boundary—it’s Proverbs 18:1 in action. It’s stepping back, not out of wisdom, but because you don’t want your desires or preferences disrupted by someone else’s need.
STOPPING STUPID ISOLATION
Isolation is stupid, and we now know Proverbs will help us fix stupid.
Which car are you in that roundabout moment?
Are you the one who caused the wreck because of your self-focused isolation, and kept going because you didn’t want to deal with the consequences?
Are you one of the cars that drove past? You didn’t cause the wreck. But you saw the need, and you kept moving because it was easier.
Are you pulling away from people because you're being you’re using self-care as a shield?
Or because you're tired of your preferences being bumped into?
Have you stopped asking others for input because deep down, you already know what they’ll say, and you’d rather not hear it?
Have you quietly quit community while still showing up to the crowd?
You don’t have to stay in isolation. Wisdom invites you back into community—back to shared responsibilities, honest counsel, mutual burden-bearing, and real connection. Proverbs 18:1 doesn’t just expose the foolishness of pulling away. It points us toward the kind of wisdom that can only be found when we stay connected.
©2025 Greg McNichols, All rights reserved.
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