Why I built nu Avanti
I wasn't lost. But if I'm being truthful, part of me was running.
There are moments when life changes gradually, giving you time to adjust. And then there are moments when several chapters seem to close almost at once.
For me, it was the end of a marriage, a period of living with my son while I tried to figure out what came next, and eventually finalizing my divorce. Three business days later, I was laid off.
But the truth is, my desire to leave and start somewhere new wasn't born only from a sense of adventure.
There were parts of my life I wanted to get far enough away from that I would never have to encounter them again.
Loss can do that.
Sometimes starting over somewhere completely different feels easier than waking up every day surrounded by reminders of what was. A new country, a new home, unfamiliar streets—there was something comforting about the idea of going someplace where almost nothing carried a memory.
So yes, I was moving toward something.
But I was also running away.
And for a while, I think I needed to.
What I began to understand, though, was that starting over isn't the same thing as erasing what came before. You bring yourself with you. The life you've lived doesn't disappear at passport control.
And maybe it shouldn't.
Because somewhere between trying to leave one life behind and imagining another, my question began to change.
It stopped being:
How far away can I go?
And became:
What do I want the life I'm going toward to look like?
For me, part of that answer was abroad.
I began seriously exploring what it would mean to build a life somewhere else—not simply to travel, but to live. To learn a place. To become part of a community. To walk into a café and eventually recognize the person behind the counter. To have people nearby who might say, I'm going for coffee. Want to come?
And the more I researched moving abroad, the more I realized how much information exists about visas, taxes, houses, healthcare and where to live.
What seemed much harder to find was each other.
Where were the people in their 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond who were also beginning again?
Some might be chasing a dream they've carried for decades. Some might be retiring. Some might be following family or opportunity.
And some, like me, might be trying to put enough distance between themselves and something painful that they can finally imagine what comes next.
We don't have to arrive at a new chapter for the same reason to recognize one another when we get there.
That's when I began thinking differently about connection.
Not necessarily romance.
Not hundreds of online “friends.”
Just people.
Someone who understands what it feels like to arrive somewhere new. Someone who has already navigated the thing you're struggling with. Someone who loves the same books, food, music or ridiculous television show you do. Someone who might become a lifelong friend—or simply the person you have coffee with on Tuesday.
That was the beginning of nu Avanti.
I didn't want to build another social network designed to keep us staring at our phones.
I wanted to use a bit of technology to foster human connection.
Tell enough of your story that another person can recognize something of themselves in it. Find a conversation worth joining. Discover someone nearby. Say, I'm doing this right now—does anyone want to come?
And then, perhaps, put the phone down.
Because I've come to believe that beginning again doesn't require us to pretend the chapters before it didn't happen.
They are part of the story. They just don't have to be the end of it.
There are chapters we haven't written yet, places we haven't seen, people we haven't met, and versions of ourselves we haven't had the opportunity to become.
I'm still discovering mine.
nu Avanti grew out of that journey.
And if you're somewhere in the middle of your own next chapter—whether you're running toward something, away from something, or still trying to figure that out—I hope you'll find someone here to share a little of it with.
Thais
Founder, nu Avanti