OK, you talked me into it.
My new (first, only) picture is my second-favorite avatar: Megaceryle alcyon, the Belted kingfisher.
Bad attitude, loner, lives on free-flowing rivers, eats fish, punk haircut. Get too close and he’ll either yell, or try to hold your head underwater.
(My favorite avatar wouldn’t have justice done by a tiny icon…plus, the common name contains a word verboten by TMF:
I want to be reincarnated as a male Physeter macrocephalus, the seprm whale - but only in the millennia or two prior to humans’ development of effective whaling around 1750 AD.
Behold the life cycle:
Born into a warm bath, and assiduously cared for by your mother and a cadre of protective aunts.
Grow into childhood on the richest milk known of any species.
Mature into a truly cosmopolitan, apex predator - any salt water from the Mediterranean to the South Pacific. If the water’s too cool, swim towards the equator; too warm, swim away. Or, just because you want to see what’s beyond the next, er, wave.
Meanwhile, food is typically almost unlimited, and once adult size is reached, predators very few
At adolescence, strike out on a cetacean Rumspringa (“Whalespringa?”). Swim around on your own, possibly accumulating a harem. Or not.
Meanwhile, as testosterone dictates, plunge deep into the abyss and take on giant squids for no other reason than that they are a worthy opponent. Win, and you have dueling scars to impress the ladies (see: harem, above)
(Downside of this lifestyle choice: whales need to breathe air. Squid don’t)
Otherwise, live peaceably for decades, thinking deep whale thoughts.
Gradually grow deaf in your later years, and wander away from your clan. Die in your sleep.
(About the only downside is a bowel obstruction from indigestible squid beaks. Most of them are lubricated and pass on through (see: ambergris), but a fatal obstruction always possible. A grim way to go. But, there’s always a worm in the apple, innit?)