Within six months, I’d found a used van. Friends designed and built the shelves. I asked everybody I knew for book donations—that’s how I get most of my stock. I didn’t have a business plan. I thought, Worst case, I’ll sell the van. I called it St. Rita’s Amazing Traveling Bookstore and Textual Apothecary. The “Rita” isn’t me, though. She’s one of the patron saints of impossible causes.

At first, I set up around my county. Before I knew it, I was in Indiana, Tennessee, South Dakota, California. I’ve logged more than 100,000 miles in nearly 40 states, almost always staying with friends or friends of friends.

If the van could talk, I think she’d say she feels intrepid, going to all these places. And meeting all these people! The kindergartner who insisted she was going to learn to read before first grade. The cop I thought was going to write me a ticket until he quietly asked, “Do you have any Louis L’Amour books?” (I did.)

Last year, I traded in my van for a newer one. It fits 700 books. Hardbacks are $9, paperbacks are $7, kids’ books a dollar. I like to keep it simple. A customer once asked, “You do realize this is a first edition of Dune?” I said, “I’m happy for you.”

Reading can bridge divides between us. It opens our mind to travel, spirituality, languages, cooking, fantasy worlds. I love that my van invites people in, sparks conversations. I’m basically just covering my costs, but I’m very glad when someone finds a book that speaks to them.

Sometimes people like to dwell on things they did in the past. What I love about this bookstore adventure is that it’s about what’s ahead. As long as we’re alive, we have a chance to make new stories to tell. —As told to David Hochman