Given the circumstances, you decide to skip the denial, anger. and bargaining parts of the transformation-related trauma process and leap straight into the depression. You have never had any particular love of waterfowl, and the prospect of being one for the rest of your life lends reason enough to hang your feathered head in sorrow. To never again eat pizza, watch reruns of Bonanza, or do anything which would require arms seems almost too much to bear. A long stretch passes as you sit in your moderately toxic birthplace feeling sorry for yourself.
Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, an idea hits you. If reincarnation is an actual phenomenon, your death in this current, feathery form might cause you to be brought back the next time around in some more appealing body. Attempting to pat yourself on the back and finding that your young wings are quite unable to do so, you suffice to stand and begin to waddle away from your somewhat poisonous homestead.
It is only when you have reached the edge of the rushes which surround you that something occurs to you. Wandering onto a road or leaping off of a bridge would obviously be considered suicide. What if there were some sort of penalty for ending your life prematurely? While you don't want to be a goose, neither do you desire an afterlife of endlessly pushing a rock uphill in the pits of Hades.