Your garden, your vision, nature's show.
But don't get bummed, you got this. Imposter syndrome be damned.
Something about how fixating on a single tree erases the forest from one's view? I suspect you're familiar with the saying I am attempting to express here without me having to Google it ;), so we'll move on to the topic of this entry: imposter syndrome.
For myself it comes in the form of that one struggling plant amongst the sea of those getting along quite happily. I walk out into the garden thrilled with the recent frenzy of Spring growth and then I spot it and my heart drops. And then my mind clouds in whispers of doubt. You suck at this, it tells me in an offhanded manner, clearly in an attempt to make me feel foolish. And it works, because the evidence is staring straight at me.
The plant that tried but failed to flourish. The evidence of my ineptitude as a gardener. Clearly I need to hang up my ugly straw hat and head back inside. Stick to scrolling Instagram for flower inspo, rather than attempting to create my own.
Does this scenario ever play out for you? If it doesn't, I couldn't be happier for you! If it does, let us both try to remember something when it intrudes upon our joy: plants die sometimes. And it's not always our fault when they do.
Because yeah, sure, maybe the reason it died is due to some error on your part with its' care. MAYBE. But also, maybe it was just the wrong plant to begin with. It could have been secretly harboring a little nasty when you brought it home from the nursery. Or the care instructions stated part sun but failed to mention it really doesn't like sandy soil (oft the cause of death in my own garden). Or maybe, and this one I feel is usually the case, it had a deathwish.
Whatever the case, sometimes the plants you bring home with an enthusiastic hope, anticipating just how they will help to complete your flowerful utopian dreamscape, straight-up and die. Damn it. But don't let it ruin your vision. Even more importantly, don't let these events mar your motivation, your pride in creating beauty with plants. Instead, keep in mind that in nature (and this is your unavoidable coworker in the work) death plays an equally important role as life in the play of gardening. You're essentially setting the stage with careful intention but then nature takes over to direct the scenes. While you watch, occasionally fetching her some water, or a snack, while she does her work. And so at the end of each scene, simply remember to take notes on improvements for the next performance, and then just, move on.
In short, don't fixate on any one 'problem' because when you do, you simply can't see the forest for the trees (I Googled it) and the forest is really what matters in this scenario. It's your script, your stage design, and nature's direction. And regardless of what transpires through the season, you should be very proud of your role in the play.
Nature might be the director but you're certainly a very important cog in her play ;)
....
Do you know about silene uniflora, commonly referred to as 'sea campoin'?
She's a stunner of a groundcover in the garden but often not the topic of conversation as most eyes land about three feet higher than where she dwells. What a shame! But as with most groundcovers, her work is essential in knitting together the scene (while lending a hand in preventing soil erosion and retaining moisture). I love her draping over a rock wall, her uniformly blue-green swath of star-shaped leaves facing every which way. And then the flowers. Sent upwards to dangle above the mass on delicate stems, they manage to be both bulbous and...sweet? It's unique to say the least, and brings this plant regarded as commonplace a most uncommon vibe.
And those unique blooms, above a variegated version.