Last Monday, Colorado College hosted a group of writers from the Institute of American Indian Arts; at the front of the hall, adjacent to the lectern, sat five native writers—part of the college’s Visiting Writers Series—waiting to share their poetry on their experiences as both members of the Native American community and artists. Amongst these unfamiliar faces was one presumably recognizable to every member of campus: Byron Aspaas, the genuine and engaging man behind the counter of Colorado Coffee. Initially seated beside the poets he had brought to campus, he then rose to read an excerpt from his memoir-in-progress. Maybe, from the context in which I recognized Aspaas, I falsely assumed he just happened to be friends with these artists, but only after the first few lines of honest lyricism echoed through the room did I understand that Aspaas was one of these great writers himself.
It is easy to assume that the side of a person you know mostly shapes one’s identity, that there could not be another world beyond the way you interact with that person on a daily basis. A more than accurately self-defined Batman, Aspaas is not just a man who has recently learned how to perfectly make coffee; he is a chef, a student, a writer, and a constant pursuer of fulfilling experiences and truth of knowledge.
A recent graduate from the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) with his Masters in Fine Arts in Creative Writing, Aspaas looked at me and laughed when I asked how he became a writer. “I was an accidental student in a weird way,” he began, “I didn’t intend to go to creative writing school. Everything as far as meeting the right people has been accidental. In terms of getting my MFA, I consider that an accident too. I went from not knowing how to write, to having my masters in creative writing.” In what he constantly reiterated to be a string of serendipitous coincidence, Aspaas’ ability to truly get to the heart of things in simple and honest language gave me much more reason to believe that his energy and intelligence attracted these opportunities to study and create art, rather than “accidentally” falling into place. If even more than a writer, Aspaas is an observer and a student in pursuit of everything.
Beginning as his thesis for his MFA, Byron’s memoir is an ode to the preservation of his mother’s memory, an understanding of his ethnic, personal, and sexual identity, and his connection to place. In regards to writing the place he came from—the Navajo Nation—Byron explained: “I knew [my mother’s] time was near the end, so I started to write more. I started looking at the land and the landscapes. We grew up next to a power plant, and that is when I started to notice and dig back into time when my brother [who died of cancer as a teenager] would reappear … my dad was also a coal miner, so between those two things, I started to really pay attention to the destruction of the land.”
Having grown up deeply connected to the Navajo Nation and having originally gone to college for civil engineering, Aspaas’ works deal heavily with landscapes, food, and specific moments of self-realization. “I have been trying to stamp time markers of realizing my identity, as well as fishing through [themes of my life],” Byron reflected. “It’s pretty weird actually— food has been coming up a lot in my writing. Growing up, my mom was a Betty Crocker of sorts. As I got older, I started to look at foods in terms of indigenousness.” There is a certain care Byron puts into noticing and recording every authentic detail, even the seemingly minute. He has studied both civil engineering and creative writing, worked as a bartender, as a teacher, and now at a coffee shop at CC. From his 10 years as a bartender, he tells a story about how he “almost got fired for not knowing what was in the food, so [he] went home, bought all of the ingredients, and started making all of the dishes.” When talking about understanding the entire process that goes into making something, his face started to light up and his voice rose as he equated his ability to pick a recipe apart and put it back together to his own writing methods.
His knowledge of the specific spans a vast number of fields. Aspaas’ motivation to learn absolutely everything radiates from the way he converses with students every morning to the way he openly listens to everything going on around him in the always-dynamic space that is Colorado Coffee. Working at the college, he said, “has helped [him a lot]. It is important to be mindful of dialogue. A writer always has to sit there and listen.” And to listen is something he has trained himself to do with a meticulous attention to detail. “I took this job because I wanted to learn to make coffee,” he explained, “in the future, I want to learn how to cook, I want to open up a bakery … I want to ultimately go back to the reservation and teach … I just don’t want to hold back anymore. If I want to do something, that’s what I am going to do.”
And so this is the drive and passion of the man who puts all of himself into everything, from his funny, sincere, and gut-wrenching works of non-fiction, to every one of the hundreds of coffees he makes—sometimes silently—every day. Aspaas is the Batman behind the counter, just as everyone has another side of their lives that may not be open to passersby. In terms of what is next, Aspaas understands that the world is acting in his favor, smiling at the fact that he “[hasn’t] even been trying, but things have just been coming [his] way.” But they haven’t just been coming his way. He has been receptive to the world and open to learning as much as he can, with incredible grace, at that. It takes a certain type of person to both learn how to write later in life and then become a master of creative writing.
“Again,” he reminded me, “it was all an accident.” No, it really wasn’t, and I don’t think Batman gives himself enough credit.