The Beetle, the Frame and a World on Fire

Some reflections on presence, perception, and the quiet discipline of staying awake to both grief and hope.

What a beauty in the spotlight of attention!
Alder beetle (Agelastica alni), once thought extinct in the UK. Photographed in southern England.

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I was out with my camera, chasing something exciting - the kind of insect that demands attention.

I nearly walked past this one.

To the naked eye, she was just a black dot. Unremarkable. Forgettable.

I’m glad I stopped.

Later, I found out she was a native alder beetle - and the fascinating thing is that until 2004, the species was considered functionally extinct in the UK. Now, they’re turning up everywhere, especially in the south of England where I live.

This year - 2025 - is a very bad year for insects. But this one seems to be doing okay.
The yellow bulge beneath her shell suggests she’s gravid, carrying eggs.

So the alder beetle has returned.
No one’s quite sure how. Reintroduction? Habitat shift? The strange side-effects of climate chaos?

Is she a winner in a time of ecological loss? A signal of resilience?
Or just another survivor, adapting without fanfare, finding a foothold where she can - like the rest of us?

So much of what we face now is too big to hold.
The climate is destabilising. Biodiversity is collapsing. Human systems are fraying.
Most people I speak with are caught in overwhelm or distraction - myself included.

It’s easy to freeze, dissociate, and obsess.
I cycle through despair, denial, and flickers of hope - sometimes all before lunch.

I call this bigger-than-self distress.

Maybe we don’t have to hold it all.
Not all the time.

Just this beetle.
Just this moment.
Just this tiny, glinting yes in a world of no.

For me, photography is a way to steady my nervous system.
It doesn’t fix anything. But it helps me return to the present - to stay alive to beauty when everything else feels too much.
And sometimes, that’s enough.

In photography, what we focus on defines the frame.
And the frame changes everything.

To frame something is to choose - to centre one thing and let others fall outside the shot.
It’s not about ignoring what’s beyond the edges, but about deciding where to place our attention - and for how long.

This is something I often explore in coaching:

How do we stay awake to crisis without being consumed by it?

How do we witness what’s unravelling without turning away - and still choose, deliberately, to include what is good, true, beautiful, and possible in the frame of perception?

To notice not only what hurts, but also what heals?

To cultivate more-than-me enlivenment even in the presence of bigger-than-self distress?

This isn’t denial.
And it isn’t naive hope.

It’s a practice.
A discipline of perception.
A way of holding grief and possibility, distress and vitality, in the same frame. So that we can remain available to what truly matters.
A way of saying: Yes, this too - and also… look here.

Look how she shines.

So I want to ask you:

What returns you to presence?
What tiny wins or possibilities have you been overlooking?
What helps you stay alive to the world, without shutting it out?

I’d love to hear.

Add your reflections below, or reach out if you're craving space to reframe your own life in a time of disruption.

I don’t post often, but when I do, it’s because something feels worth sharing - often a photograph like this one.
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