Being in America isn't old-hat - it's where we're from - but I

“Being in America isn't old-hat - it's where we're from - but I get excited to be in other parts of the world like Athens and Croatia, which were quite cool. I'm a sightseer. I go see the sights and museums. I'm into that kind of thing.”
— Richie Sambora

In these humble yet profound words, Richie Sambora, the legendary guitarist and traveler of sound, reveals more than a love of travel—he reveals the eternal human longing for discovery, for wonder, for the communion between the soul and the world. Though he begins with simplicity, saying that being in America—his homeland—never loses meaning, he confesses that his spirit is awakened when he walks foreign roads, when he stands before the ruins of Athens, or gazes upon the shimmering coasts of Croatia. His words are those of the wanderer, the seeker, the artist who knows that each new horizon is not merely a change of place, but a renewal of the soul.

At the heart of this quote lies a truth as ancient as civilization itself: that to journey is to grow. Every traveler, whether poet or pilgrim, knows the transformation that occurs when one steps beyond the familiar. Sambora, though a man of music, speaks here with the wisdom of a philosopher. To him, travel is not escape—it is education. In the stones of Athens, he sees the echo of philosophy and democracy, in the shores of Croatia, the endurance of cultures that have survived empires. Through his eyes, we remember that the world is a living museum, where every street and monument whispers lessons to those who listen. He is not a tourist chasing novelty; he is a sightseer of the spirit, finding meaning in beauty, and beauty in meaning.

The origin of this sentiment stretches far beyond the age of airplanes and guitars. The ancients themselves were wanderers. The Greek philosopher Herodotus traveled across Egypt and Persia, seeking knowledge of men and gods; Marco Polo crossed deserts and seas to bring back visions of the East to the West; and even the poets—Homer, Virgil, Dante—crafted their verses as odysseys of the soul. They knew, as Sambora knows, that each journey outward mirrors a journey inward, and that to see the world is to better understand one’s place within it.

When Sambora speaks of America, he does not reject his roots. He honors them. “It’s where we’re from,” he says—a grounding phrase, a reminder that identity begins at home. Yet, like a tree reaching its branches toward the sun, he seeks growth beyond his origin. He embodies the balance between belonging and exploration, between being rooted and being restless. For the wise traveler does not abandon home; he carries it with him, like a compass of memory. In Athens, he walks as an American, yet he stands also as a citizen of the world—a musician whose art, like all true art, transcends borders.

There is also an undercurrent of humility in his words. Though a man celebrated upon stages before thousands, he speaks not of fame or privilege, but of awe. “I go see the sights and museums,” he says, with the wonder of a child. He reminds us that greatness is not measured by how many have seen you, but by how deeply you have seen the world. In the presence of ancient art, of history carved in stone, he finds perspective—a recognition that time is vast, and that even the most celebrated life is but a verse in the greater symphony of humanity. To gaze upon a museum’s treasures is to remember that we are all inheritors of a story older than our names.

This spirit of curiosity and reverence is what makes Sambora’s reflection timeless. For in a world growing small through technology, it is easy to forget the wonder of standing before something real—a temple, a sea, a painting weathered by centuries. He calls us back to that sacred encounter. To be “into that kind of thing,” as he says with humility, is to be alive to wonder, to find inspiration not only in sound or art, but in the living presence of the past. It is to walk through the corridors of time and feel oneself both tiny and infinite.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart: travel not only with your body, but with your spirit. Let curiosity guide you as much as ambition. Do not journey to escape your home—journey to enrich it. Seek the wisdom of other lands, the stories hidden in stone and water, and bring them back as gifts for your own people. Visit the world’s sights and museums, not merely for photographs, but for perspective. And when you stand before the relics of time, let silence teach you what no classroom can.

For as Richie Sambora reminds us, the power of travel is not in movement, but in awakening—awakening to beauty, to history, to the shared heartbeat of humankind. Every horizon holds a lesson. Every journey deepens the song of your soul. Therefore, walk the earth with wonder, and let each new land remind you: the world is vast, and within it, you are both student and steward, ever learning, ever becoming.