My prompt response:
If I had to come back to this earth to live again as an insect, I would be a particular kind of honeybee: a winter bee, born in the late summer or early fall, and living (if all goes well) into the following spring. Honeybees born in the spring generally live only a few weeks -- they are literally made to take advantage of spring's new blooms and are not made solidly enough to withstand cold snaps and the like. The queen takes what is called a brood break in the summer, and then, while resources are high, lays bees that are more stout and have the body fat reserves to be able to help the hive stay warm through the winter and then do the critical very early foraging in the spring before the spring bees are mature enough to take over. Winter bees born in the summer can live as long as nine months, versus six to eight weeks for their younger spring bee sisters!
I am a winter bee by inclination -- born in the winter as a human, and sharing my father's large body type. My body converts fat to muscle with the quickness, so losing weight is doable but extra hard -- I have a winter bee's build! I also have a habit of long-term consistency in spite of circumstances (been through two "winters" here on Hive and its predecessor), and longevity is my genetic legacy (of course, I have to honor that by taking care of myself). I also don't need the excitement of flitting around but am perfectly happy doing the things necessary to keep life going well for the elders of the family and for me in quiet ... Covid-19 was basically time for me to be sure about that about myself. That was a long winter in the hive, and COLD, and DEADLY ... and yet I feel I have come out stronger for it, with stronger relationships with the people that I love and serve.
But here is the main thing: the winter bee who makes it to be a forager in the spring passes on the way I would also like to pass on. Winter deaths for winter bees are not awful either -- one sleep too deep on a night too cold -- but in the spring, the option of gently passing away on a fine spring day, perhaps surrounded by the scent of the spring's first blooms, or somewhere landed in a beam of sunlight -- winter bees die after having done all they can in a full life that enables their colony to survive, in the beauty of the spring they help their colony see. I don't know if they have that perspective about their lives, of course, but I do, and I appreciate winter bees for their longevity in service. So, if I had to be born again on this earth as an insect, I would choose to live and die as a winter bee.