From Mr. Emerson:

"It is for want of self-culture that the superstition of Travelling, whose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination for all educated Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an axis of the earth. In manly hours, we feel that duty is our place. The soul is no traveller; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still, and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not like an interloper or a valet.

I have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe, for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is first domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as they. He carries ruins to ruins.

Travelling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go."

Hell yeah. First of all, I hope that I can fill my life with good works on behalf of my home, Philadelphia, and make it another England, Italy, or Greece. I have been and will continue to strive to be the axis that Emerson talks about.
Next, I had a great experience today with regard to one of his latter points. I was in the suburbs at my grandmother's house, and I felt tranquil in her yard amid gardens, trees, and sun. It seemed idyllic, and I was happy. I figured my trip back home would be grim in comparison, as I'd need to ride on the El Shuttle through the more rundown sections of West Philly, breaking the bucolic setting of the garden.
However, to my delight, once I got to 69th street and boarded my bus, I felt at home again for the second time, and more than that, I felt tranquil again. I loved the citizens on the bus, the shops in the streets, and the murals as much as I did the flowers, trees, and birds earlier. Then I realized, the tranquility was not a function of external factors--it was from within. Assuming that that's an accurate reflection, I don't know whether I can take credit for that or not. I guess Emerson would say that I can and should take credit for it, and it's not as if I haven't been striving for years--almost a decade at this point--to cultivate an excellent character and tranquility of mind. Maybe I'm starting to enjoy the fruits of my labor.