That’s a great way of putting it. I think it’s quite possible to take the ages too seriously. Most of the patterns and symbolism come through with a careful read, no charting required. These numbers are embedded in literature, and that’s how they’re supposed to be received. I think my last chart especially (with the slanted figures) takes these numbers far more seriously than originally intended, probably leading to “insights” the author never wanted us to draw.
For instance, Genesis 5 monotonously drills home the effects of Adam’s rebellion as it repeats “and he died.” While the curse is in full force, the blessing to be fruitful and multiply is muted. The text focuses on son’s birth followed by father’s death, so only with Noah’s three sons do we see a real gain. Other sons and daughters are noted parenthetically, keeping the focus off the growing population.
But charting it out tells a different story. Put the statements in Genesis 5 in chronological order, and the first “and he died” wouldn’t appear until after the birth of Noah’s father! Aside from Adam, Seth and Enoch, everyone in Genesis 5 lives alongside Noah until he’s at least an octogenarian. I don’t think Genesis is supposed to be read as showing such a delay in natural death coming to humans.
Likewise, I don’t think we’re supposed to picture Noah as among those building the tower, given a new language and scattered from Babel. When Abram leaves his father’s house, I don’t think we’re also supposed to picture him leaving all his living ancestors back to Shem, or wonder if Shem ever popped by in his late 500s when Jacob’s kids were being born. I don’t think we’re intended to picture Eber mourning the death of his son, grandson, great-grandson, and on to his great-great-great-great-grandson Abraham.
So yes, I think the ages speak of a misty past that can best be reflected by fabulous numbers set on an ethereal scale. Despite my efforts, they work best when read in their literary context, not plotted.